mm 


f^         i^ 

v   vi 


I 


; 


POC  AHONT  AS, 

PRINCESS  OF  VIRGINIA:-  ; 


AND 


OTHER  POEMS. 


BY 


WILLIAM  WATSON  WALDRON,  A.  B., 

'l 

TRIN.  COLL..  DUB. 


1  The  beings  of  the  mind  are  not  of  clay  ; 
Essentially  immortal,  they  create 
And  multiply  in  us  a  brighter  ray 
And  more  beloTed  existence  :  that  which  fate 
Prohibits  to  dull  life,  in  this  our  state 
Of  mortal  bondage,  by  these  spirits  supplied, 
First  exiles  then  replaces,  what  we  hate  ; 
Watering  the  heart  whose  early  flowers  have  died, 
And  with  a  fresher  growth  replenishing  the  void." 

LORD  BVROX. 


NEW  YORK : 
DEAN  &  TREVETT,  121  FULTON  STREET. 

1841. 


it    «  *    «:•    *,*'***  t    t     t  <   * 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  J841,  by 

WILLIAM     WATSON     WALDRON, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


JACOB  LORILLARD,  ESQ., 

THESE  POEMS 
ARE   INSCRIBED,   AS  A 

SLIGHT   TESTIMONY    OF    ESTEEM    AND    REGARD, 
BY      HIS     SINCERE     FRIEND, 

THE    AUTHOR. 


1869 


PREFACE. 


THE  author  has  but  a  word  to  say,  and  that  is  a  word  of 
thanks,  to  those  personal  friends  whose  kindness  and  en 
couragement  have  brought  this  present  volume  to  the  light. 
If  the  private  friendship  and  the  good  will  of  those  whose 
favor  it  is  an  honor  to  enjoy,  can  avail  anything  to  support 
a  difficult  task  with  cheerfulness,  the  author  is  so  cheered 
and  supported  in  this  publication.  That  the  liberality  given 
to  the  MSS.  will  also  be  extended  to  the  book,  he  has  no 
doubt ;  and  in  this  good  hope,  he  willingly  intrusts  his  un 
dertaking  to  the  care  of  his  friends. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

POCAHONTAS,  PRINCESS  OF  VIRGINIA, 

CANTO  I. 13 

CANTO  II. 29 

HOUR  OF  LOVE,  ..........  45 

FROM  THE  GREEK, ID. 

WRECK  OF  THE  LEXINGTON, 46 

NAPOLEON'S  GRAVE, '48 

WATCHMAN,  WHAT  OF  THE  NIGHT  ? 49 

TO  SLEEP, 51 

HYMN, 53 

QUEEN  OF  FLOWERS, 55 

KENILWORTH  CASTLE,        -  -'    jf*. 5f, 

MINSTREL'S  LAST  LAY, 57 

LINES  ON  VIEWING  THE  INTERMENT  OF  THE  ONLY  CHILD  OF  AN 

ESTEEMED  FRIEND,     - -59 

NIAGARA  AT  MOONLIGHT,        ---..--..64 

TO  THE  EVENING  STAR, 65 

THE  OLD  YEAR, 67 

THE  CHILD'S  GRAVE, 68 

FROM  PETRARCH, 72,  73,  74 

FAME,  -  -  -  -  -'•-.' 75 

DREAMS, '. 70 

LIFE,  -         .-   •        -          '  77 

TO  A  LADY, 78 

LAST  DAY  OF  THE  YEAR,  - 81 

TO  A  HOLY  BIBLE, 82 

TO  A  FRIEND, 83 

KOSCIUSKO'S  GARDEN, -  .'.'.'.  -      85 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  A  FRIEND,  •  *  .  .        ,j.          •       .  >  86 

TO  A  FRIEND,  -       -*  -  -  -         ..  .'.'.'.'"  -      88 

VISION  OF  COLUMBUS,  -  -  «  ..-.  ..  .  91 

GRAVE  OF  ANDRE,  -  -  -  ....  >.,       .  .  -      92 

ON  SEEING  THE  AMERICAN  COAST,     -      -      -*    .   .  -  '        -  -  -  94 

LOSS  OF  THE  PRESIDENT,       -  -  -  -    •       -  -  -  -      96 

HUMAN  LIFE,       -  -  -  .  •  •  •  .    '    .  .     /   .  98 

LOVE, 100 

TIME, il, 

REASON, 101 

RURAL  RETIREMENT,  -  »     .    -.  '       ..     • 102 

DESTINY, «         '.  •  .'          .  .  .    103 

TO  THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  DEEP,     -  -     .      *>-      -  --          .  .    :       .         104 

TO  DIANA,       -  -  -  -  ...  .  .  .  .  .    100 

TO  A  SLAVE, ,          »'  '     1        107 

FAREWELL  TO  MY  HARP, ib 


POCAHONTAS, 

PRINCESS  OF  VIRGINIA. 


THE  subject  which  has  been  selected  for  the  following 
poem,  (an  episode  in  the  early  history  of  Virginia,)  is  one  of 
such  exciting  interest,  that  it  should  cast  a  halo  around  the 
page  which  it  adorns,  and  be  sufficient  of  itself  to  disarm 
all  criticism,  with  regard  to  the  words  wherein  it  is  invest 
ed,  whether  delivered  in  prose  or  verse. 

Every  incident  in  the  brief  but  glorious  career  of  Poca- 
hontas,  is  calculated  to  produce  love  and  admiration,  and 
to  reflect  the  highest  honor  on  the  name  of  woman. 

The  most  memorable  event  in  the  life  of  this  princess, 
and  that  which  has  rendered  her  name  immortal,  is  thus 
recorded: 

After  a  long  consultation  among  the  chiefs,  the  fate  of 
Captain  Smith,  (Alcanzor  of  the  poem,)  who  was  the  leader 
of  the  first  colony  in  Virginia,  was  decided. 

The  conclave  assumed  their  silent  gravity,  and  all  the 
preparations  for  death,  agreeable  to  the  custom  of  savage 
nations,  were  made  on  the  banks  of  the  river. 

Powhattan  gave  the  fatal  signal,  and  the  rude  barbarians, 
with  their  blood-stained  weapons,  stood  near  their  king, 


8  POCAHONTAS. 

silently  awaiting  the  prisoner's  last  moments.     Smith  was 
not  destined  to  perish. 

Pocahontas,  the  beloved  and  only  surviving  daughter  of 
the  king,  rushed  forward,  fell  upon  her  knees,  and,  with 
tears  and  entreaties,  prayed  that  the  victim  might  be  saved. 
The  royal  Indian  to  whom  the  appeal  was  made,  rejected 
her  suit  and  commanded  her  to  leave  the  prisoner  to  his 
fate.  Frantic  at  failing  in  the  success  of  her  supplications, 
Pocahontas  threw  her  arms  round  the  captive's  neck,  laid 
her  head  against  his,  and  scattered  her  dishevelled  and  long 
flowing  hair  about  his  shoulders,  declaring  that  she  would 
either  perish  with  or  save  him. 

The  Indians,  knowing  the  sternness  of  Powhattan's  char 
acter,  gasped  for  breath,  fearing  lest  he  would  slay  his 
child  for  taking  such  a  deep  interest  in  the  fate  of  him  he 
considered  his  deadliest  foe. 

Human  nature  is  the  same  in- all  nations,  in  all  ages. 

The  war-club  dropped  from  the  monarch's  hand,  his  brow 
relaxed,  his  heart  softened  ;  and,  as  he  raised  his  cour 
ageous  daughter  to  his  bosom  and  kissed  away  the  falling 
tears,  he  reversed  the  decree,  and  directed  that  the  prisoner 
should  be  set  at  liberty. 

It  was  generally  supposed  at  the  time,  that  the  interest 
which  Pocahontas  took  in  the  fate  of  the  prisoner  was 
produced  by  that  tender  passion,  which  is  found  to  exist  in 
all  states  of  society,  whether  savage  or  civilized  ;  that  divine 
sensation,  which,  when  emanating  from  a  virtuous  breast, 
constitutes  our  greatest  blessing,  which  leads  the  heart 
captive  at  its  will,  and  is  capable  of  making  any  sacrifice 
for  the  dear  object  of  the  affections.  Subsequent  events 
proved  that  such  was  not  the  case.  The  heart  of  Poca- 


POCAHONTAS.  0 

hontas  was  possessed  by  another,  on  whom  she  afterwards 
bestowed  her  hand  ;  this  was  Mr.  Rolfe,  (Rodolph  of  the 
poem.) 

"  I  ask  no  favor  in  return  for  what  I  have  done,"  said  the 
amiable  Princess  to  Captain  Smith.  "  The  only  boon  I  re 
quire  is,  that  I  may  always  live  in  your  memory." 

Cold  indeed  must  be  that  heart  which  can  review,  with 
hypercritical  censure,  any  attempt,  however  feeble,  to  in 
troduce  to  the  world,  in  a  new  garb,  the  lovely  heroine  of 
our  tale. 

Pocahontas  is  one  of  those  characters,  rarely  appearing 
on  the  theatre  of  life,  which  no  age  can  claim,  no  country 
appropriate.  She  is  the  property  of  mankind,  serving  as  a 
beacon  to  light  us  on  our  way,  instruct  us  in  our  duty,  and 
show  us  what  the  human  mind  is  capable  of  performing 
when  abandoned  to  its  own  operations. 

In  Pocahontas  we  view  the  simple  child  of  nature,  prompt 
ed  by  her  own  native  virtues  alone,  discharging  the  most 
generous  acts  of  self-devotion,  without  seeking  any  reward, 
other  than  that  arising  from  a  consciousness  of  acquitting 
sacred  duties. 

Unenlightened  by  revelation,  we  find  her  loving  her  ene 
mies,  doing  good  to  those  who  despitefully  used  and  per 
secuted  her,  without  knowing  that  such  obligations  were 
imposed  on  us  by  "  a  teacher  come  from  God." 

It  is  unnecessary  to  add  any  thing  more  to  what  is  stated 
respecting  our  heroine  in  this  brief  notice  and  in  the  poem, 
if  we  except  the  date  of  her  death,  which  occurred  in  Eng 
land,  A.  D. 1616. 

King  Powhattan  survived  his  daughter  two  years. 

When  Captain  Smith  enquired  of  the  aged  monarch  re- 


10  POCAHONTAS. 

specting  the  succession  to  his  crown,  he  replied :  "I  am 
now  very  old  and  have  seen  the  death  of  all  my  people 
thrice.  Not  one  of  the  three  generations  is  now  living, 
and  the  succession  must  pass  to  the  families  of  my  brothers 
and  sisters." 

Powhattan  died,  full  of  years,  and  was  gathered  to  his 
fathers,  A.  D.  1618. 


"  Two  generations  now  had  passed  away, 
Wise  by  his  rules  and  happy  by  his  sway  ; 
Two  ages  o'er  his  native  realms  he  reigned, 
And  now  th'  example  of  the  third  remained." 


Fancy  may  faintly  imagine  but  can  scarcely  realize  the 
feelings  of  the  aged  chief,  when  he  received  intelligence  of 
the  death  of  his  only  child,  his  last  stay  and  consolation  on 
earth. 

May  we  not  conceive  that  his  situation  was  similar  to 
that  of  the  English  monarch,  (Henry  I.,)  thus  described 
by  a  celebrated  poetess  : 

"  He  sat  where  festal  bowls  went  round, 

He  heard  the  minstrel  aing, 
He  saw  the  tourney's  victor  crowned 

Amidst  the  knightly  ring  ; 
A  murmur  of  the  restless  deep 

Was  blent  with  every  strain, 
A  voice  of  winds  that  would  not  sleep, 

He  never  smiled  again." 


POCAHONTAS, 

PRINCESS  OF  VIRGINIA. 
CANTO    I. 


POCAHONTAS, 

PRINCESS  OF  VIRGINIA. 


CANTO  I. 

1  Chaste  as  the  first  that  fell  of  womankind  ; 
Whose  image  then  was  stamped  upon  her  mind — 
Dazzling  as  that,  oh  !  too  transccndant  vi»ion, 
Where  heart  meets  heart  again  in  dreams  Elysiar 
Soft,  as  the  memory  of  buried  love  ; 
Pure  as  the  prayer  which  childhood  wafts  above  ; 
Was  she,  the  daughter  of  that  rude  old  chief." 

Bride  of  Abydot. 


Descend  ray  muse,  from  Heaven's  bright  sphere  descend ! 

As  erst  propitious — still  propitious  prove. 

To  fair  Parnassus'  height  my  flight  I  bend — 

Attune  my  harp  to  sing  a  tale  of  love. 

Come  then — and,  for  a  season,  now  retire 

To  fragrant  groves — thy  native  charms  bring. 

Leave  thy  proud  psaltry  for  the  rustic  lyre, 

Be  with  the  minstrel  as  he  wakes  his  string, 

And  still  inspire  the  humble  strain  he'll  sing. 

2 


14  POCAHONTAS: 


n. 


Where  fair  Virginia  spreads  her  wide  domain? 
In  towering  mountain,  valley,  hill  and  plain. 
There  lived  in  ages  past,  of  royal  line, 
A  lovely  maid,  of  face  and  form  divine. 
Purer  than  she  to  life  was  never  given, 
Nor  can  be,  sharing  less  of  earth  than  heaven,. 
The  gentle  Pocahontas  was  she  named, 
Through  distant  realms  and  future  ages  famed. 


Her's  were  the  graces  nature's  hand  bestowsr 
The  liberal  favors  from  her  bounty  flows. 
Wild  as  the  fawn,  o'er  hill  and  dale  she'd  roamr 
Still  onward  wend  her  course — nor  think  of  home, 
Till  brightest  Hesperus,  enthroned  on  high, 
Proclaiming  day  was  over,  met  her  eye. 
Then  would  her  thoughts  revert,  and  fondly  turn, 
To  the  loved  hearths  that  erst  so  brightly  burn, 
Where  weeping  eyes  a  loved  one's  absence  mourn. 


POCAHONTAS.  U 


IV. 


It  was  an  evening,  at  that  season  drear, 

When  all  things  lose  their  verdure,  leaves  are  sere — 

The  blossoms  yielded  now  to  every  blast, 

Myriads  beneath  the  parent  stems  were  cast. 

At  such  an  hour — behold  the  royal  maid, 

Far,  far  from  home — from  friends  and  kindred  strayed 

She  turned,  but  darkness  all  the  world  embraced, 

Ere  half  the  forest  path  could  be  retraced. 


v. 


'Tis  thus  on  life's  sad  pilgrimage  we  stray,— 
Lost  in  the  brakes  and  thickets  of  the  way. 
The  more  we  tempt  the  wilderness,  the  more 
The  maze  redoubles, — needless  to  explore. 
Onward  we  move,  unwilling  though  to  go 
Through  untried  paths,  beset  with  weal  or  woe. 
Bewildered, — lost, — enveloped  in  the  gloom, — 
We  sink,  at  last,  for  ever  in  the  tomb. 


16  POCAHONTAS. 


VI. 


The  distant  horn  she  heard, — its  sounds  were  few. 

Her  ears  were  cheered  to  hear,  her  heart  was  too. 

In  fond  imagination  did  she  see 

Her  aged  sire,  weighed  down  with  misery, 

(Now  sole  remaining  parent,)  mourn  his  child, 

Lost  in  the  mazes  of  the  forest  wild  ; 

Or  haply  to  some  savage  beast  a  prey, 

That  nightly  roams  the  desert, — shunning  day. 


VII. 


Thus  Pocahontas  wandered — sad — forlorn — 
Till  fair  Aurora  ushered  in  the  morn. 
When  the  bright  rays  of  light  spread  o'er  the  lawn, 
Beasts  to  their  lairs  retired — the  playful  fawn 
Sported  around, — then  did  she  quick  pursue 
The  well  known  path  presented  to  her  view. 
And  the  long  tedious  way  did  oft  beguile, 
Thinking  again  to  share  a  parent's  smile. 


POCAHONTAS  17 


VIII. 

The  long  lost  home  appeared — how  short-lived  joy 
What  bliss  can  mortals  share  without  alloy  ? 
The  velvet  lawn  scarce  met  her  wistful  eye 
Ere  she  beheld  the  faggots  piled  on  high — 
The  flaming  torches  scattered  all  around, 
And  the  familiar  captive  closely  bound. 
Her  eyes  were  filled — she  sickened  at  the  sight — 
Melted  to  tears  and  loathed  returning  light. 


IX. 


Alcanzor  was  a  youth  of  noble  mien, 
Such  amid  men  (as  now)  are  rarely  seen, 
His  brilliant  eye  illumined  night's  dark  shade, 
The  graceful  ringlets  round  his  shoulders  played. 
His  towering  height  declared  him  without  peer, 
So  far  above  his  fellows  he'd  appear. 
Take  him  for  all  in  all,  such  men  as  he, 
Tis  rare,  in  nether  worlds,  for  eye  to  see. 

2   * 


18  POCAHO'NTAS. 


X. 


She  loved  Alcanzor  for  another's  sake, 
One  who  his  griefs  and  joys  did  long  partake. 
Friendship  alone  the  passion  could  be  named, 
But  still  for  one  more  tender  was  she  blamed. 
He  was  young  Rodolph's  other  self — his  heart- 
To  him  the  lovers  every  thought  impart. 
Alcanzor  was  to  Rodolph  more  than  friend, 
For  kindred  feelings  long  their  bosoms  blend. 


XI. 


Friendship,  divinest  boon  of  bounteous  heaven  ! 

What  were  this  life  if  such  were  never  given  ? 

A  dreary  wilderness — a  barren  soil : — 

A  weary  pilgrimage  replete  with  toil. 

But  friendship  ! — grant  us  but  in  thee  a  right, 

Each  grief  is  joy  and  every  burden  light, 

An  endless  spring  where  blasts  no  blossoms  blight. 

What  mental  vision  can  the  bound  define 

Between  thy  bliss  and  that  of  love  divine  ? 


POCAHONTAS.  19 


xn, 


Twas  in  a  border  foray  he  was  ta'en, 
Nor  was  it  bloodless — many  here  were  slain. 
Virginia's  king,  Powhattan,  gained  the  prize, 
His  daughter  led  him  captive  with  her  eyes. 
The  burning  pile  was  destined  for  his  doom, 
And  Pocahontas  vowed  to  share  his  tomb. 
She  and  Alcanzor  should,  upon  one  pyre, 
Breathe  their  last  sigh,  and,  all  for  love,  expire, 


XIII. 

This  stern  intent  had  reached  her  father's  ear; 
And  eyes,  unused  to  weep,  now  found  a  tear. 
His  hours  of  bliss  were  far  between  and  few, 
For  well  he  knew  what  woman's  love  could  do. 
The  thought  oft  brought  distraction,  horror  wild, 
To  lose  his  sole  remaining  joy — his  child. 
While  far  from  home  she  wandered,  he  resolved 
The  bond  that  held  her  heart  should  be  dissolved. 


20  POCAHONTAS. 


XIV. 

The  captive,  bound  in  fetters,  forth  was  led — 
The  burning  pile  with  kindling  fodder  fed. 
To  heaven  he  raised  his  eyes,  those  eyes  of  fire, 
Whose  flame  did  maidens'  hearts  with  love  inspire. 
No  tender  mother,  sister,  brother,  wife 
Was  there,  that  day,  to  intercede  for  life. 
From  distant  realms  he  came,  beyond  the  sea, 
Far,  far  was  he  from  kindred,  country. 


xv. 


The  king  was  seated  : — all  his  chieftains  round. 
The  trumpet  gave  a  shrill,  a  martial  sound — 
An  awful  signal ! — With  solemn  step  and  slow, 
Alcanzor  to  the  burning  pile  must  go. 
The  warriors  bent  their  bows  with  steady  aim — 
The  fatal  shaft  would  kill,  if  not  the  flame. 
A  double  death  awaits  one  mortal  life. 
An  angel  interposing  stopped  the  strife. 


POCAHONTAS.  21 


XVI. 


"  Stay,  stay  your  hands,  oh,  warriors  ! — turn  your  aims 
"  On  me,"  a  voice  of  heavenly  tone  exclaims. 
The  princess  rushed : — around  the  victim's  waist 
Her  arms  she  threw — close,  closer  still  embraced. 
The  arrows,  lately  destined  for  a  breast, 
Lie  on  the  bow-strings — find  a  lasting  rest. 
Hearts,  long  inured  to  death,  with  ardour  glow, 
Dissolved  in  pity  as  the  melting  snow. 


XVII. 

The  plume  crowned  king  rejoiced  to  see  that  child 
Whom  fancy  painted  blanching  in  the  wild, 
Prey  to  the  beasts  that  through  the  valley  roam, 
Slaughter  their  pastime — trackless  woods  their  home. 
Was  it  a  vision  that  entranced  his  eyes  ? 
Could  Pocahontas  dare  such  great  emprise  ? 
Could  he  believe  his  vernal  tendril  flower 
Would  thus  defy  the  deadly  arrow  shower  1 


22  POCAHONTAS. 


XVIII. 


The  monarch  rose  upon  his  ebon  throne, 
Sought  to  conceal  the  tear  he  durst  not  own. 
His  mighty  breast  heaved  deep  with  pul-sive  throbs, 
Scarce  finding  vent : — unlike  a  man  he  sobs. 
He  waved  his  hand  to  let  the  chiefs  retire, 
Bade  them  remove  the  sad  funereal  pyre, 
Signed  them  to  place  their  bows  within  the  sheath, 
And  fill  their  quivers  with  the  shafts  of  death. 


XIX. 


Silence  resumed  its  reign.     The  king  began, 

Forgetting  all  the  monarch  in  the  man. 

11  Fairer  than  that  bright  star  that  gilds  the  morn, 

"  Sole  op'ning  blossom  left  of  all  were  born 

"  To  save  a  royal  house  from  deadly  blight, 

"  An  ancient  line  of  kings  from  endless  night ! 

"  Dearest  of  heaven's  best  gifts — the  captive  's  free- 

"  To  thee  alone  he  owes  his  liberty." 


POCAHONTAS.  23 


XX. 


The  child  of  nature,  reckless  of  all  fears, 

Fell  in  her  father's  arms — dissolved  in  tears. 

No  word  she  uttered,  nor  did  grace  implore, 

Mute  in  her  eloquence — she  pleaded  more 

Than  if  a  thousand  tongues  should  silence  break, 

Ten  thousand  prostrate  suppliants  mercy  seek. 

A  daughter's  tear  ! — what  force,  what  power  it  brings  !- 

How  deep  it  vibrates  on  the  heart's  laced  strings. 


XXI. 

No  fetters  swathe  Alcanzor's  mighty  limbs — 
Now  severed  all : — no  band  his  visage  dims. 
The  gentle  maid,  who  set  the  prisoner  free, 
"Was  first  to  taste  how  grateful  'tis  to  be 
The  kind  dispenser  of  the  gifts  of  heaven. 
To  her  more  grateful  feelings  must  be  given 
Than  e'en  to  him  who  owed  his  life,  his  all 
To  woman's  love — a  charm  can  never  pall. 


24  POCAHONTAS. 


XXII. 

The  royal  chief  his  favorite  vassal  calls, 
Bade  him  conduct  Alcanzor  to  the  halls 
Where  many  a  generation,  now  no  more,' 
Their  festive  revels  held  in  days  of  yore. 
Powhattan  follows,  with  his  daughter,  where 
Unnumbered  slaves  a  princely  feast  prepare  ; 
A  festal  board  was  soon  with  viands  spread, 
And  the  freed  captive  forth  in  honor  led. 


XXIII. 

The  feast  being  o'er  (for  dainties  then  were  few,) 

The  royal  host  prepared  his  light  canoe 

To  bring  the  stranger  thither  whence  he  came, 

(Virginia  e'er  deemed  such  a  holy  name.) 

Alcanzor  soon  embarked — a  king  his  guide. 

Ere  he  departs  he  took  the  maid  aside ; 

Fair  pledges  passed  in  friendship — not  for  love  : 

Of  this  were  conscious  none — save  heaven  above. 


POCAHONTAS.  25 


XXIV. 

Oh  woman  ! — fairest  boon  that  heaven  bestowed, 
How  oft  has  mercy  from  thy  bosom  flowed. 
Pure  source  of  feeling — friendship — love  divine — 
Oh !  what  were  man  but  for  this  holy  shrine  ? 
Only  abode  of  bliss  without  alloy, 
Chaste  sanctuary  for  his  grief  or  joy. 
If  adoration  were  allowed  to  thee  : 
Idolaters  ! — how  many  would  there  be  ? 


POCAHONT  AS, 

PRINCESS  OF  VIRGINIA. 

^V 

CANTO  II. 


POCAHONTAS, 


PRINCESS  OF  VIRGINIA. 


CANTO   II. 


A  soul  more  spotless  never  claimed  a  tear  ! 
A  heart  more  tender,  open  and  sincere  ; 
A  hand  more  ready  blessings  to  bestow — 
Beloved,  lamented  and  without  a  foe. 
How  prized  in  life,  they  're  told  who  knew  her  well- 
How  wept  in  death,  a  nation's  tears  may  tell." 


I. 


Once  more,  my  muse,  let  me  invoke  they  aid  : 
Once  more  descend  ; — inspire  my  tuneful  strings. 
Again  my  harp  I  strike  for  that  fair  maid, 
The  last  sole  offspring  of  Virginia's  kings. 
In  the  cold  grave  she  slumbers,  yet  she  lives 
In  memory's  fondest  recollections  still : 
And  to  successive  ages  ever  gives 
A  bright  example,  which  has  erst  and  will 

Yield  pleasure  to  the  heart  that  virtue's  charms  can  fill. 
3  » 


30  POCAHONTAS. 


II. 


It  was  an  evening  of  that  placid  mien 
When  peace  appears  presiding  o'er  the  scene: 
No  sound  was  heard,  save  that  a  murmuring  rill, 
Sparkling  like  dew-drops,  trickled  down  the  hill. 
Anon  the  whippoorwill,  did  silence  break 
Or  cheerless  woodpecker  impress  his  beak 
On  the  aged  oak,  that  reared  its  head  on  high, 
Seeming  as  if  to  emulate  the  sky. 


in. 


Such  was  the  season,  such  the  solemn  hour, 
When  Pocahontas  sought  her  favorite  bower, 
Where  roses  loved  with  lilies  to  entwine, 
The  myrtle  to  unite  with  eglantine. 
Fluvanna,  fairest  of  Virginia's  streams, 
Flowed  by  and  mingled  with  the  sleeper's  dreams, 
As,  in  soft  slumbers,  she  reposing  lay, 
Ere  evening  shades  enclosed  retiring  day. 


POCAHONTAS.  31 


IV. 


Visions,  of  brightest  fancy,  cheered  her  mind, 
Such  as  the  youthful  breast  alone  can  find : 
Young  Rodolph,  long  the  monarch  of  her  heart, 
In  the  bright  phantom  bore  the  greater  part. 
For  him  alone — Alcanzor  did  she  love  : 
He  was  his  friend — adversity  did  prove  : ' 
And  next  to  him,  who  long  her  heart  possest, 
She  loved  his  other  self — such  ne'er  confest. 


v. 


Sweet  fairy  vision  !    ever  hold  thy  sway, 
Oh  !  too  transcendent  bright  on  earth  to  stay. 
Wake  not,  fair  dreamer :  things  that  erst  have  been 
Sweetly  float  o'er  thee  in  a  magic  scene. 
Flowers,  of  sweetest  perfume,  scattered  round, 
Exhale  their  odors  ; — flutes,  of  heavenly  sound, 
Swell  to  the  breeze,  enliven  all  the  plain, 
And  bid  enchantment  still  maintain  its  reign. 


32  POCAHONTAS. 


VI. 


How  gladly  does  the  mind  revert  to  past, 
To  days  too  blissful — scenes  too  pure  to  last. 
Oh  !  if  but  time  would  stay  its  rapid  hours  ! 
When,  in  its  course,  it  meets  Elysian  bowers, 
Linger  awhile — delay  its  rapid  flight, 
Nor  thus  haste  on  to  sink  in  endless  night. 
The  thought  is  vain — it  passes  with  the  wind- 
Heedless  of  all  things,  leaving  all  behind. 


VII. 


As  in  the  fragrant  arbor  still  she  lay, 

The  paddling  oars,  urged  on  through  feathered  spray, 

Awoke  the  slumberer ; — in  the  distant  view 

A  brigaiitine  her  quick  attention  drew. 

Time  failed  to  let  her  further  cause  explore 

Ere  a  canoe,  well  manned,  approached  the  shore. 

Who  could  mistake  the  leader  of  the  band  ? 

It  was  her  Rodolph  first  who  stepped  on  land. 


POCAHONTAS.  33 


VIII. 

Scarce  were  the  lovers  clasped  in  fond  embrace, 
Ere  in  the  barge  they,  silent,  took  their  place. 
No  words  were  needed — love  had  formed  the  plan 
Love,  the  acutest  gift  conferred  on  man. 
The  royal  Indian  oftimes  sighed  to  view 
That  distant  clime  whence  Rodolph  came  to  woo. 
O'er  the  blue  waters  quickly  were  they  borne, 
Nor  more  of  land  perceived  till  early  morn. 


IX. 


In  holy  wedlock,  Rodolph  gained  the  hand 

Of  Pocahontas,  ere  she  left  the  land 

Bound  in  her  heart  by  all  we  hold  most  dear, 

As  oft  attested  by  the  falling  tear. 

Never  were  kindred  bonds  more  closely  tied 

Than  on  the  morn  she  found  herself  a  bride. 

Her  father's  hearth  ne'er  seemed  so  bright  to  burn, 

As  when  she  left  it — never  to  return. 


34  POCAHONTAS. 


X. 


The  vessel  rode  triumphant  o'er  the  tide, 

And  soon  no  object,  save  the  ocean  wide, 

Of  space  extensive,  met  th'  astonished  view — 

A  wide  expanse  around  of  azure  blue. 

The  towering  billows,  reared  to  mountains  high, 

Seemed  to  bedew  with  mist  the  vaulted  sky, 

Anon,  in  mighty  volumes,  quickly  hurled, 

Appeared  to  sink  beneath  the  nether  world. 


XI. 


What  will  not  love,  perform  ? — what  not  endure  ?— 

Such  emanating  from  a  heart  so  pure 

As  that  of  Rodolph's  bride — where  every  grace 

Found  a  safe  domicile — a  native  place. 

For  this — she  e'er  resigned  a  happy  home  ; 

For  this — to  distant  realms  she  dared  to  roam  ; — 

To  leave  a  parent,  country, — kindred  dear — 

To  die  unwept  for — fill  a  stranger's  bier, 


POCAHONTAS.  35 


XII. 


Aurora  dawned. — The  waters,  to  behold, 

Seemed  like  a  mighty  flood  of  liquid  gold, 

Or  to  an  ocean  of  that  lurid  fire 

Which  from  volcanic  orifice  expire. 

The  storm  had  ceased  : — the  glassy  surface  o'er 

Not  e'en  a  ripple  seemed  to  harrow  more. 

As  a  fair  mirror — it  reflected  bright 

All  'neath  its  bosom — all  above — to  sight. 


XIII. 

Rodolph  led  forth  his  young  and  lovely  bride 
To  view  leviathan,  the  ocean's  pride, 
(The  potent  monarch  of  the  mighty  flood,) 
Seeking,  in  liquid  realms,  its  daily  food. 
Great  Behemoth  came  also  (vast  in  size,) 
Displaying  wonders  to  th'  astonished  eyes. 
While  other  monsters  of  the  vasty  deep 
Join  in  the  band,  and  round  the  vessel  creep. 


36  POCAHONTAS 


XIV. 

When  fully  sated  to  her  hearts  desire, 

With  tearful  eyes  she  took  a  rude-made  lyre, 

On  which,  as  she  was  wont  in  former  days 

In  simple  minstrelsy  to  tune  her  lays, 

She  lightly  touched  :  and  while  she  listless  strung 

In  concert  with  the  simple  air.  was  sung, 

Unconscious  of  the  music's  magic  power, 

She  thus  beguiled  the  tedium  of  the  hour. 

LAY. 


Silence  too  long  around  thee  reigns, 
My  slumbering  Harp. — I  trow 

To  tune  them  to  some  other  strains  ; 
Be  thou  propitious  now. 


Mayhap  they  are  the  last  that  e'er 
Will  move  thy  tuneful  strings, 

As  erst — the  smile  or  falling  tear 
No  more  their  music  brings. 

ill. 

Alas  ! — 'tis  vain  to  try  thee  more, 

No  music  you  afford  j — 
What  magic  can  thy  charms  restore  ? 

What  power  attune  thy  chord  ? 


POCAHONTAS.  37 


XV. 


Albion's  fair  cliffs  appeared — hope,  fondest  hope 
Sprung  in  each  breast, — they  seek  the  telescope. 
The  royal  exile  first  the  glass  applied, 
And,  on  the  pier,  a  crowd  of  gazers  spied, 
A  well  known  form  amid, — whose  towering  height 
Taught  her  to  think,  ere  this,  he'd  met  her  sight. 
Wrapped  in  a  cloak  the  face  she  scarce  could  see, 
Yet  still  a  something  said  :  "  it  must  be  he." 


XVI. 


They  onward  sailed — but  ere  the  ship  reached  land, 
The  ardent  princess  bounded  on  the  strand. 
Fondly  she  clasped  the  stranger  to  her  breast, 
It  was  Alcanzor's  self  who  stood  confest. 
A  crimson  flush  bedewed  his  glowing  cheeks, 
No  kind  return  he  makes— no  word  he  speaks. 
The  gentle  exile  soon  dissolves  in  tears, 
And  e'en,  in  them,  more  lovely  yet  appears. 


38  POCAHONTAS. 


XVII. 

When  she  returned  to  self,  and  silence  brake, 

The  princess  shone  in  every  word  she  spake. 

"  Was  it  for  this,  proud  warrior,  that  to  thee 

"  I  granted  country,  kindred,  liberty  ? 

"  When  in  a  clime  far  distant  from  thine  own,,' 

"  A  wanderer,  poor,  unpitied  and  alone  ; 

"  Say, — was  it  thus  Powhattan's  daughter  turned  ? 

"  Thus,  in  her  father-land,  the  stranger  spurned  ?" 


XVIII. 

Alcanzor's  cheeks  assumed  a  deeper  hue ; 

He,  in  his  turn,  for  mercy  'gan  to  sue. 

"  Fairest  arid  best,  forgive  me  the  foul  wrong  ; 

"  Call  me  ingrate,  or  what  must  e'er  belong 

"  To  him  who  can  forget  a  favor  given, l 

"  Witnessed  e'en  though  but  by  all-seeing  Heaven. 

"  To  thee  my  life,  my  liberty,  I  owe — 

"  Accept  my  love — 'tis  all  I  can  bestow. 


POCAHONTAS.  41 


XIX. 

He  spake,  and  fondly  clasped  the  forest  child  : 
She  wiped  away  the  falling  tear  and  smiled. 
All  disembark — behold  a  joyous  band  ! 
Hearts  beat  responsive — hand  grasps  friendly  hand. 
Affection's  tear  bedewed  e'en  stranger's  eyes, 
And  burdened  bosoms  sought  relief  in  sighs. 
The  soft  infection  ran,  kind  feelings  flowed, 
And  all  a  sympathizing  tear  bestowed. 


xx. 


Friendship  and  love,  throughout  Britiannia's  Isle, 

Met  Pocahontas,  unreserved  by  guile. 

Her  sons,  a  brother  showed  in  every  breast, 

In  her  fair  daughters,  sisters  were  confest. 

Each  vied  with  each,  their  friendship  to  confer, 

And  even  royal  favors  flowed  on  her. 

Such  acts,  a  lambkin  won  to  Christ's  broad  fold, 

For  with  believers  was  her  name  enrolled. 


40  POCAHONTAS. 


XXI. 

Years  passed  away.     The  pensive  exile  sighed 
To  see  her  country — ere  her  father  died. 
He,  worn  with  years  and  mourning,  oft  beguiled 
His  sorrow,  thinking  on  his  long  lost  child. 
A  hundred  moons  were  knotted  on  his  cord, 
Since  last  her  radiant  eyes  their  charms  afford. 
His  heart,  to  see  her  once  again,  did  pine, 
The  sole  remaining  scion  of  his  line. 


XXII. 

In  human  things,  'tis  man  that  must  propose, 
But  Heaven  alone  their  destiny  dispose. 
The  morn  arrived  when  Rodolph  and  his  train, 
His  wife  and  child,  were  to  embark  again 
For  fair  Columbia.     Alas  !  her  native  shore, 
Her  home,  her  kindred,  Pocahontas  more 
Was  never  to  behold  : — ere  close  of  day, 
Her  spirit  winged  its  flight  and  passed  away. 


POCAHONTAS.  41 


XXIII. 

In  the  lone  mansion  of  the  silent  tomb 
She  ever  sleeps  ;  far,  far  from  friends  and  home. 
But  sovereign  mercy,  just  to  all  mankind, 
In  every  clime  the  pure  in  heart  can  find. 
Will  not  the  passing  pilgrim  drop  a  tear, 
An  humble  offering,  on  a  stranger's  bier  ? 
And  guardian  spirits  as  they  hover  nigh, 
Will  bear  the  tribute  to  their  shrines  on  high. 


XXIV. 

Sleep  on,  sleep  on,  and  lightly  o'er  thy  breasi, 
May  the  green  turf  protect  thee  in  thy  rest. 
Nature  will  mourn  the  favorite  child  she  gave, 
And  breathe  her  sighs  upon  thy  lowly  grave. 
The  evening  here  bestows  her  latest  dews, 
Nor  will  the  morn  her  earliest  tears  refuse. 
Sleep  on,  sleep  on,  until  that  glorious  morn, 
When  angels  will  rejoice  for  angels  born. 

4  * 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


HOUR    OF    LOVE. 

Know  ye  the  hour  when  lovers  should  meet  ? 

Know  ye  when  vows  should  be  given  ? 

Know  ye  when  hearts  can  in  unison  beat, 

Witnessed  by  nothing  but  heaven  ? 

Tis  when  the  planets  are  lit  in  the  skies, 

Lulled  every  wave  on  the  ocean — 

'Tis  when  the  zephyrs  are  breathing  their  sighs, 

And  nature  has  stilled  her  emotion  : 

Tis  when  the  moonbeams  are  playing  around, 

Far  from  the  ken  of  the  many — 

This  is  the  hour,  believe  me,  is  found 

Fairest  and  brightest  of  any. 

FROM    THE    GREEK. 

GOD  is — and  that 's  enough  for  thee, 
But  seek  not  what 's  the  Deity. 
Worship,  honor,  praise,  adore — 
And  further,  mortal,  ne'er  explore. 


46  WRECK    OF    THE    LEXINGTON. 

WRECK    OF    THE    LEXINGTON 

JANUARY     13th,    1840. 


'  The  queenly  ship  !  brave  hearts  had  striven, 

And  true  ones  died  with  her — 
We  saw  her  mighty  cable  riven, 

Like  floating  gossamer. 
We  saw  her  proud  flag  struck  that  morn, 

A  star  once  o'er  the  seas — 
Her  anchor  gone,  her  deck  uptorn, 

And  sadder  things  than  these." — MRS.  HEMANS. 


They  found  a  lone  grave  in  the  azure  deep, 

Hearts  to  friendship  true  : 
They  slumber  in  long,  in  lasting  sleep, 

'Neath  heaven's  expanse  of  blue. 

Where  are  the  loved  ones  that  left  the  shore  1 

Down  in  the  deep,  deep  sea. 
Alas !  we  shall  never  behold  them  more, 

The  ocean  their  bed  must  be. 

Where  are  those  eyes  that  with  lustre  shone, 
Whose  beams  spread  a  splendor  round  ? 

To  the  depths  of  the  troubled  waves  they  're  gone, 
Where  snow-white  pearls  are  found. 


WRECK    OF    THE    LEXINGTON.  47 

They  sleep,  aye  for  ever,  in  coral  cells, 

And  there  have  found  a  grave, 
Wrhere,  sadly  and  silent,  the  mermaid  dwells, 

Beneath  the  crystal  wave. 

The  young  and  the  lovely  have  passed  away. 

Nor  more  on  earth  appear, 
Without  shroud,  without  coffin,  unknelled  they  lay, 

No  kindred  heart  was  near. 

Ages  will  roll  and  meet  their  doom, 

Till  time  itself  shall  cease  ; 
But  nought  can  awake  them  in  the  tomb, 

The  home  of  lasting  peace. 

There  will  they  rest,  'reft  of  solar  beams, 

Regardless  of  the  storm — 
No  dirge  will  ever  disturb  their  dreams, 

Save  what  the  winds  perform. 

But  yet  a  time  will  come,  'tis  said — 

An  angel's  voice  will  say  : 
"  Ye  seas,  ye  seas,  give  up  your  dead, 

"  'Tis  resurrection  day  !" 


NAPOLEON'S    GRAVE. 


NAPOLEON'S    GRAVE. 


"  He  lay  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest, 
With  his  martial  cloak  around  him." — WOLFE. 


Oh !  do  not  take  him  from  the  sea-girt  isle, 
Where  twice  ten  summers  he  reposed  in  death. 
Behold,  he  slumbers  !     Mark  the  placid  smile  ! 
"  Let  me  sleep  on  in  peace,  my  friends,"  it  saith, 

Can  gorgeous  city  yield  a  holier  tomb  ? 
Can  fretted  vault  an  easier  bed  supply  ? 
Can  proud  sepulchral  arch  avert  a  doom, 
Or  animate  the  once  dark-rolling  eye  ? 

These  balmy  zephyrs  breathing  gently  round, 
This  spicy  fragrance  from  the  flowers  exhaled, 
These  odors  sweet  respiring  from  the  ground, 
Embalm  the  hero  glory  oft  bewailed. 

Corruption  claims  him  not,  nor  worms  intrude, 
Then  why  disturb  him  from  such  blest  repose  ? 
No  earth-born  reptiles  banquet  on  such  food, 
Nor  revels  keep.     The  silent  grave  then  close. 


WATCHMAN,    WHAT    OF    THE    NIGHT?         40 

Can  France,  proud  France,  bestow  a  nobler  toml) 
Than  that  which  nature's  self  in  ocean  formed  ? 
Can  laurel  wreaths  around  his  temples  bloom 
More  fresh  than  these,  where  twenty  winter's  stormed  ? 

What  gothic  minster,  with  its  cloud-capt  spire, 
And  battled  towers  that  rear  their  heads  on  high. 
In  pomp  can  to  this  island  tomb  aspire, 
Or  to  yon  vaulted  arch  of  heaven's  blue  sky  ? 

Then  do  not  take  him  from  the  sea-girt  isle, 
Where  twice  ten  summers  he  reposed  in  death, 
Behold,  he  slumbers  !     Mark  the  placid  smile  ! 
"  Let  me  sleep  on  in  peace,  my  friends,"  it  saith. 


"WATCHMAN,  WHAT  OF  THE  NIGHT'' 


On  the  night  previous  to  the  demise  of  General  Harrison,  he  repeat 
ed  (according  to  report)  these  words,  at  various  intervals  :  "  Watch 
man,  what  of  the  night? — Watchman,  what  of  the  night  ?" 


"•  WTatchman,  Watchman, — what  of  the  night  ?' 
"  Heavenly  visions  envelope  me  quite. 
"  Voices  of  seraphim  sound  in  my  ears, 
"  A  halo  of  glory  on  all  things  appears. 

5 


50          WATCHMAN,   WHAT  OF  THE    NIGHT? 

"  Angels,  archangels,  now  joyfully  wait 
"  To  welcome  a  spirit  to  heaven's  bright  gate. 
"  '  Watchman,  what  of  the  night  V 

"  '  Watchman,  Watchman,  what  of  the  night  1J 
"  There  hovers  around  me  a  heavenly  light, 
"  To  my  spirit  departing  affording  a  ray, 
"  Enlight'ning  the  boundless,  the  trackless  way, 
"  To  regions  of  pleasure,  to  mansions  of  bliss, 
"  More  pure,  more  enjoying,  more  stable  than  this, 
"  '  Watchman,  what  of  the  night  V 

"  '  Watchman,  Watchman,  — what  of  the  night  r 
"  How  glorious  the  vision — how  great  the  delight — 
"  When  voices  of  cherubim  sweetness  display 
"  To  a  spirit  just  entering  on  endless  day. 
"  Fair  scene  of  bright  rapture  !  oh,  when  will  it  be 
"  That  I  will,  in  glory,  be  passing  to  thee  ? 
"  '  Watchman,  what  of  the  night?' 

"  'Watchman,  Watchman,  —  what  of  the  night?' 
"  What  are  those  phantoms  enchanting  my  sight  ? 
"  Angels  attuning,  in  concert,  their  lyre, 
"  Calling  me  loudly  to  join  the  glad  choir..     .; 
"  Lend,  lend  your  wings — I'm  soaring — I  fly, 
"  My  name  to  enrol  among  angels  on  high. 
"  '  Watchman,  what  of  the  night  ?' 


T  O    S  L  E  E  P.  51 

"  «  Watchman,  Watchman, — what  of  the  night r 
(Still  sung  the  pure  spirit  just  winging  its  flight,) 
"  I  leave  the  frail  mansion  I  held  upon  earth, 
"  For  one  that's  eternal,  of  heavenly  birth  : 
11  My  soul  is  departing — it  lingers  no  more, 
"  It  soars,  on  fleet  pinions,  to  heaven's  bright  shore. 
*'  *  Watchman,  what  of  the  night  V  " 


TO     SLEEP. 


;  Each  night  we  die  :  Each  morn  are  born  again  : 
Each  day  a  life."  YOUNG. 


Hail,  gentle  sleep — thy  charms  I  sing, 
Thrice  grateful  to  the  languid  eye, 
As  soaring  oft,  in  balmy  wing, 
Across  the  weary  lids  you  fly. 
In  thy  arms  what  bliss  we  find, 
What  pure  pleasure  sleep  bestows  ! 
Here  no  griefs  await  the  mind, 
From  the  source  no  sorrow  flows. 

Fancy  now,  with  all  her  train, 
Flits  across  the  slumbering  mind, 
Visionary  joys  or  pain 
In  her  fairy  scenes  we  find. 


TO    SLEEP. 

Short  and  transient  is  their  power, 
Frail  and  fleeting  must  they  be, 
Joys  and  sorrows  of  an  hour, 
Gentle  sleep,  they  fly  with  thee. 

In  thy  short-lived  reign  we  see 
Fatal  death's  subduing  power, 
Taste  what  is  eternity 
In  the  compass  of  an  hour. 
Emblem  of  that  awful  day 
In  thy  influence  we  find, 
When  this  world  will  pass  away 
Nor  leave  one  joyless  wreck  behind. 

Come,  oh  !  come,  and  weigh  my  eyes, 
Nature's  nurse  !  thy  bliss  impart ; 
Bring  the  charms  thy  power  supplies, 
Grateful  to  the  head  and  heart. 
On  thy  bosom  let  me  rest, 
Still  around  thy  pleasures  pour, 
In  thy  blessings  ever  blest, 
Till  I  sleep  to  wake  no  more. 


HYMN.  53 


HYMN, 

WRITTEN  (BY  REQUEST)  FOR  THE  CONSECRATION  OF  AN 

EPISCOPAL  CHURCH  IN  OHIO. 
"  How  amiable  are  thy  tabernacles,  O  Lord  of  Host*  !" 

Father  of  all,  whose  power  alone 

Could  raise  this  wondrous  frame, 

Where  countless  worlds  your  empire  own 

And  magnify  thy  name  : 

How  can  we  dare  approach  thy  throne, 

The  creatures  of  a  day  ; 

We  to  existence  scarcely  known 

Ere  fleetly  past  away. 

O  Thou,  who  can'st  with  equal  eye 

Regard  the  fate  of  all, 

A,  world  from  its  bright  orbit  fly, 

The  lowly  sparrow  fall. 

An  arm  almighty,  Lord,  extend 

To  guard  the  church  from  harm, 

The  Christian  pilgrim  to  defend, 

Thy  saints  from  false  alarm. 


54  HYMN. 

Lo  !  in  the  wilderness  we  raise 

A  temple,  Lord,  to  thee, 

And  celebrate  thy  glorious  praise 

In  sacred  melody. 

Oh  !  let  thy  quick'ning  spirit  pour 

Its  influence  around, 

And  fill  the  fane  where  we  adore 

To  make  it  holy  ground. 


Grant  that  the  tender  plant  we  rear, 

How  slow  so  e'er  it  grows, 

May  overspread  the  desert  drear, 

And  blossom  as  the  rose. 

Long  let  its  mystic  shade  impart 

To  every  soul  distrest, 

A  balm  to  heal  the  broken  heart, 

And  to  the  weary— rest. 

But  when  this  transient  state  is  o'er, 

(At  best — a  short  lived  flower,) 

Its  sorrows  past,  its  griefs  no  more, 

Its  pleasures  lost  their  power, 

Oh  !  may  we  bless  the  day  that  cast, 

In  the  Bethesda  here, 

The  wound  that  had  a  power  to  last 

Beyond  this  earthly  sphere. 


QUEEN    OF    FLOWERS.  55 

Then  let  us  all,  in  one  accord, 
With  joyful  tongues  proclaim 
The  goodness  of  the  mighty  Lord, 
The  greatness  of  his  name. 
And  ever  strike  the  sacred  lyre 
In  hymns,  while  yet  we  may, 
Until  we  join  the  heavenly  choir 
In  everlasting  day. 


QUEEN    OF    FLOWERS. 
(FROM  SAPPHO.) 

If  to  rule  o'er  fragrant  bowers, 

We'd  choose  a  queen  among  the  flowers, 

What  within  all  nature  grows 

Is  preferred  before  the  rose  ? 

In  every  zephyr  bland  that  breathes, 
In  every  garland  Flora  wreathes, 
In  every  breeze  that  round  us  blows, 
The  rose,  we  still  perceive  the  rose. 


56  KENILWORTH    CASTLE. 


KENILWORTH    CASTLE. 


"  This  lordly  palace,  where  princes  feasted  arid  heroes  fought,  now 
in  the  bloody  earnest  of  storm  and  seige,  and  now  in  the  games  of  chiv 
alry,  where  beauty  dealt  the  prize  which  valor  won,  all  is  now  desolate. 
The  bed  of  the  lake  is  but  a  rushy  swamp,  and  the  massy  ruins  of  the 
castle  only  serve  to  show  what  their  splendor  once  was,  and  to  impress 
on  the  musing  visiter  the  transitory  value  of  human  possessions,  and 
the  happiness  of  those  who  enjoy  an  humble  lot  in  virtuous  content 
ment." — Sir  Walter  Scott. 


Relic  of  by-gone  days,  your  moss-grown  wall, 
And  ivy  tower,  sad  recollections  call 
Of  other  times — when  Britain's  virgin  queen 
Triumphed  where  desolation  marks  the  scene. 

Near  yon  proud  arch  that  rears  its  head  on  high, 

And  seems  to  soar  to  heaven's  ethereal  sky, 

Full  many  a  lordly  pageant  moved  and  fair. 

"  Where  are  the  actors  ?" — Echo  answers — "  Where  ?' 

Here  did  sweet  harmony  her  powers  prolong, 
These  walls  re-echoed  with  the  minstrel  song. 
Brave  knights  did  once  to  ladies  fair  advance, 
And  led  them  through  the  mazes  of  the  dance. 


MINSTREL'S    LAST    LAY. 

Here  did  the  warriors  of  the  olden  time 
Give  subject  to  the  troubadour's  rude  rhyme  : 
And  many  a  captive  in  the  donjon  tower, 
Strung  his  sad  harp  to  'guile  a  lonely  hour. 


Here  gallant  Leicester,  in  proud  array, 
Led  forth  his  queen  upon  the  festive  day. 
Where  are  they  now  who  shared  the  royal  smile 
All,  all  have  past  away,  but  thee,  dark  pile. 


A  few  more  years,  and  history  alone, 
Proud  Kenilworth,  must  claim  thee  as  her  own. 
And  'mong  the  records  of  a  long  past  age 
We'll  seek  thy  memoir  on  her  graphic  page. 


MINSTREL'S    LAST    LAY 


Child  of  sweet  song,  thy  race  is  o'er, 
Sorrow  thy  bosom  rends  no  more, 

Nor  tears  will  dim  thine  eye. 
Lend,  lend  your  wings,  ye  angel  choir, 
Yes! — to  your  regions  I  aspire, 

To  heaven's  bright  realms  I  fly. 


58  MINSTREL'S    LAST    LAY. 

In  sorrow  to  this  world  we  come, 
Through  sorrow  we  must  reach  the  tomb, 

With  sorrow  spend  our  days. 
Thrice  happy  hour  ! — then  welcome  here, 
That  bring'st  me  to  that  radiant  sphere, 

Where  cherubim  give  praise. 

Hail,  power  divine  !  that  shew'st  the  way, 
To  where  a  never  ending  day 

Is  followed  not  by  night. 
And  you,  ye  heavenly  joys,  I  sing, 
Which  Israel's  shepherd  e'er  will  bring 

To  those  who  seek  his  light. 


Child  of  pure  bliss  then  call  me  now, 
With  festive  garlands  wreath  my  brow, 

A  triumph  here  I  gain ! 
Sound,  sound  the  liveliest  notes  of  joy, 
For  endless  pleasures  that  ne'er  cloy 

Henceforth  on  me  remain. 


NTERMENT    OF   A    CHILD. 


LINES 

ON    VIEWING  THE    INTERMENT  OF    THE  ONLY  CHILD  OF 
AN  ESTEEMED    FRIEND, 

AT    WEST     CHESTER,    SEPTEMBER     ?TH,     1837. 


"  Here  lies  a  rose,  a  budding  rose. 

Blighted  before  its  bloom, 
Whose  innocence  did  sweets  disclose, 

Beyond  that  flower's  perfume. 
To  those,  who  for  his  loss  are  grieved, 

This  consolation  's  given, 
He  's  from  a  world  of  woe  relieved, 

And  blooms  a  rose  in  heaven." — BURNS. 


Farewell,  sweet  babe  ! — thy  life  was  brief, 

Thy  transient  course  is  run, 
Thou  'st  fallen  with  the  autumn  leaf — 

With  it  thy  race  begun. 

Short  was  thy  span.     The  rising  sun 
That  viewed  the  blushing  rose, 

But  half  its  annual  course  had  run 
When  he  beheld  its  close. 


60  INTERMENTOFACHILD. 

Inscrutable  are  God's  decrees, 

Ineffable  his  powers, 
His  ways  are  not  as  our  ways, 

Nor  are  his  thoughts  as  ours. 


We  fondly  hoped  the  lovely  flower 
Would  raise  its  drooping  head, 

But  nought  could  stem  the  fatal  hour, 
Sweet  cherub,  thou  art  dead. 


Thus  evanescent  were  the  dreams 

That  hope  so  vainly  rose, 
They  vanished  as  the  morning  beams, 

Ere  evening  sought  repose. 


A  soul  so  formed  for  virtue's  light 
No  more  on  earth  could  roam, 

But  to  the  spirits  winged  its  flight, 
To  seek  its  native  home. 


As  first  we  viewed  thy  lovely  bloom, 

All  calm  and  all  serene, 
We  scarce  could  think  an  early  tomb 

So  soon  would  close  the  scene. 


INTERMENT    OF    A    CHILD.  61 

Our  hearts  the  thought  could  never  brook, 

As  there  we  saw  thee  lie, 
That  then  we  took  a  parting  look — 

That  thou  wert  born  to  die. 


We  deemed  thee  a  fond  gift  from  heaven 

Kind  Providence  had  sent, 
But  ah !  we  find  thou  wert  not  given, 

But,  for  a  season,  lent. 


Thy  hours  were  few.     A  summer's  morn 

Was  all  life  gave  to  thee  ; 
And  now,  thou  'rt  ever  from  us  torn, 

Grave  !  where  's  thy  victory  ? 


Could  but  a  mother's  anxious  care 

Her  drooping  lily  save, 
Or  that  a  father's  fervent  prayer 

Might  snatch  thee  from  the  grave. 

But  prayers  ! — ah  !  what  can  they  avail 
And  sighs  and  tears  are  vain  ; 

We  now  are  called  thy  fate  to  wail ; 
Blest  seraph,  thou  art  ta'en  ! 

6 


62  INTERMENT   OF   A    CHILD. 

But  is  it  only  thou  alone, 

Can'st  claim  the  falling  tear  ? 

Ah,  no!  but  the  deserted  one 
Who  droops  upon  thy  bier. 


The  silent  tear  that  steals  the  cheek 

Betrays  the  father  there, 
The  sorrows  which  he  cannot  speak 

Too  well  his  griefs  declare. 


Lone  parent,  do  not  thus  repine, 
'Tis  thus  we  all  shall  be  : 

To  God's  behest  thy  will  resign, 
And  to  his  high  decree. 


And  thou,  fair  mourner,  who,  at  home, 
Now  weep'st ;  the  loved  one  gone  ; 

Who  vainly  seek'st  the  vacant  room 
Where  late  thy  rose-bud  shone  : 


Oh !  do  not  yield  thy  soul  to  grief, 

Thy  bosom  to  despair  : 
In  meek  religion  seek  relief — 

A  sovereign  bairn  is  there. 


INTERMENTOFACHILD.  63 

Farewell,  sweet  babe  !  we  bid  adieu  ! 

The  mournful  task  is  o'er, 
Thou  'rt  ever  hid  from  mortal  view  ; 

No  art  can  now  restore. 


Rest,  rest  in  peace,  thou  hallowed  earth ! 

Here  will  the  bloom  of  spring 
Rejoice  to  yield  its  earliest  birth, 

Its  loveliest  odors  bring. 


Here  will  the  morn  her  tears  bestow, 

And  evening  its  soft  dews; 
Here  kindred  hearts  indulge  their  woe, 

A  tribute — who  '11  refuse  ? 


Farewell ! — once  more  we  say — farewell ! 

Alas  !  we  now  must  part. 
Still  will  thy  image  ever  dwell 

Within  the  breaking  heart. 


64  NIAGARA    AT    MOONLIGHT. 


NIAGARA    AT    MOONLIGHT 


Niagara  ! — Niagara  ! 
Careering  in  its  might, 

The  fierce  and  free  Niagara 
Shall  be  my  theme  this  night. 

A  glorious  theme,  a  noble  theme, 
Niagara,  is  mine, 

Heaven's  fire  is  on  the  flashing  wave, 
Its  thunders  blend  with  thine.  ANON. 


See,  through  the  solemn  grey  of  evening  light, 
Niagara  slow  bursting  on  the  sight. 
A  pensive  stillness  reigns  through  the  profound, 
Unbroken  but  by  that  lone  solemn  sound, 

Which,  as  the  thunder  from  th'  ethereal  sphere, 
Peals  loud  and  louder  on  th'  astonished  ear. 
Lo  ! — the  pale  moon  sheds  o'er  the  tranquil  scene 
Its  silver  beams — not  erst  more  brightly  seen. 

In  the  opposing  vault  of  heaven's  pale  sky, 
A  bow  of  milky  whiteness  rears  on  high 
Its  arch,  e'er  unimpeded  by  a  cloud, 
Nor  e'en  a  meteor  can  its  form  enshroud. 


TO    THE    EVENING    STAR.  65 

At  such  an  hour,  how  grateful  'tis  to  be 
Far  from  what 's  lighter  still  than  vanity; 
And  to  communion  with  our  thoughts  retire, 
To  raise  them  'bove  the  sphere  of  base  desire. 


Grant  me  a  scene  like  this,  such  hours  as  those, 
Few,  few  there  be  that  this  vain  world  bestows. 
Give  me  such  days,  and  when  I  pass  away, 
Far  from  the  regions  of  this  fleeting  day, 


Oh !  may  I  think  of  such  blest  hours  of  joy, 
For  they  alone  taste  not  of  life's  alloy, 
By  them  alone  in  this  drear  world  is  given 
A  foretaste  of  the  bliss  that  reigns  in  heaven. 


TO    THE    EVENING    STAR 
(FROM  SAPPHO.) 

Fair  evening  star,  sweet  evening  star, 

With  joy  I  hail  thy  rise ; 
Bright  orb,  no  clouds  thy  lustre  mar, 

Thou  glory  of  the  skies. 

6  » 


66  TO    THE    EVENING    STAR. 

The  social  board,  at  thy  return, 
,    With  generous  hearts  will  glow, 
Tis  then  the  blazing  hearth  will  burn, 
And  genial  warmth  bestow. 


Soon  as  thy  beams  put  forth  their  charms, 

All  nature  seeks  repose, 
The  herd  no  longer  feels  alarms, 

Protected  from  its  foes. 

The  lovely  maid,  by  virtue  warned, 
Now  seeks  her  happy  home, 

And  she,  whom  every  grace  adorned, 
No  more  will  sigh  to  roam. 

At  thy  return,  sweet  evening  star, 

The  tender  lovers  meet, 
And  hearts  that  morn  had  severed  far 

In  unison  can  beat. 


THEOLDYEAR.  67 


THE    OLD    YEAR. 


"  Where  is  it  ?    With  the  years  beyond  the  flood." 

Yoo»e. 


Lo  !  another  transient  year, 

Another  span  of  time 
Has  quickly  run  its  brief  career, 

Though  late  we  viewed  its  prime. 

How  many  hopes,  how  many  fears 

Have  past  their  little  day, 
How  many  smiles,  how  many  tears 

Have  lived,  have  died  away, 

Since  first  we  hailed  its  fair  birth-day 

As  't  were  but  yestere'en, 
And  now  'tis  ever  past  away 

To  things  that  once  have  been. 

Tis  thus  with  man — his  days  are  nought, 

He  blooms  his  little  hour, 
Where  late  he  lived  is  vainly  sought, 

He  perished  like  a  flower. 


68  THECHILD'SGRAVE. 

Since  then  to  him  a  course  is  given 
So  short — may  he  pursue 

The  narrow  path  that  leads  to  heaven, 
Discovered  but  by  few. 


THE    CHILD'S    GRAVE. 

"  Mother  of  the  lost  one  !  is  it  not  a  comfort  even  while  you  mourn, 
to  think  of  all  that  that  breast,  now  so  silent,  has  escaped  ?  The 
cream,  the  sparkle,  the  elixir  of  life  it  had  already  quaffed;  is  it  not 
sweet  to  think  it  shunned  the  wormwood  and  the  dregs?  Answer  me, 
even  though  the  answer  be  in  tears." — Bulwer. 

O'er  this  small  mound, — oh,  lightly  tread  ! 

Angels  their  vigils  keep, 
And  with  their  guardian  wings  o'erspread 

A  cherub  laid  asleep. 

Nor  marked  with  monumental  stone, 

Nor  graced  by  sculptured  bust, 
The  earliest  flowers  of  spring  alone 

Protect  the  hallowed  dust. 

Breathe  not  a  sigh.     The  silent  tear 

Is  all  thou  neecl'st  bestow, 
He  little  recks,  who  slumbers  here, 

To  claim  the  meed  we  owe. 


THE    C  HILD'S    GRAVE. 

Through  endless  ages  here  thou  'It  rest, 

0  dear  departed  shade  ! 
Let  no  rude  step  that  spot  molest, 

Thy  reliques  sacred  made. 


Basking  beneath  thy  vernal  sky 
The  cruel  spoiler  came, 

Nor  did  we  deem  the  tyrant  nigh, 
Though  he  had  marked  his  aim. 


The  fatal  shaft  past,  on  the  stem 
The  withering  rose  in  scorn, 

And  fixed  the  fairest  brightest  gem, 
The  rising  hope  of  morn. 


Scarce  can  we  think  it  gone  for  aye  ; 

So  fleet  the  arrow  sped, 
It  bore  the  op'ning  bud  away 

Ere  it  inclined  its  head. 


What  trophies  can  this  triumph  bring  ? 

What  laurel  wreaths  to  thee, 
O  Death  ?— Then  where  the  mighty  sting  ? 

O  Grave  ! — thy  victory  ? 


THE    CHILD'S    GRAVE. 

Farewell,  thou  sweetly  smiling  rose, 
That  perished  in  its  bloom, 

Before  the  morning  sweets  disclose 
Their  fragrant  full  perfume  ! 


A  fairer  bud  in  nature's  bower 
Was  ne'er  displayed  to  view, 

Nor  ever  did  a  lovelier  flower 
Receive  the  early  dew. 


But  now  thou  'rt  gone  !— nor  mothers  smile, 

Nor  father's  bitter  tear 
Could  death's  unerring  dart  beguile, 

To  let  thee  linger  here. 


Yet  still  one  joy,  one  hope  is  left, 
One  consolation  's  given, 

Though,  for  a  season,  we  're  bereft, 
We  '11  never  part  in  heaven. 


Yes! — to  those  mansions  we  shall  come 
Where  thou  dost  now  rejoice, 

Forewarned  from  thy  early  tomb 
We  hear  a  still  small  voice  ! 


THE    CHILD'S    GRAVE.  71 


"  Ye  mourners,  why  will  ye  repine, 

11  To  follow  me  prepare, 
"  Amid  the  heavenly  host  I  shine 

"  An  angel  bright  and  fair. 


•'  What  though  to  earth  I  '11  ne'er  return  ? 

"  Yet  ye  will  come  to  me  : 
"  To  me  who  ne'er  again  can  mourn 

"  Through  all  eternity. 

"  Snatched  from  a  world  of  grief  and  woe  ; 

"  How  truly  blest  am  I ! 
"  The  cares  of  life  I  here  forego, 

"  A  denizen  on  high." 

The  cherub  spake.     In  visual  sight 

We  view  the  heavenly  choir 
Of  angels  and  archangels  bright, 

Wrapped  in  seraphic  fire. 


At  heaven's  great  portals  thee  descry, 
The  youngest  of  the  train, 

And  hymn  thy  welcome  to  the  sky 
In  notes  of  joyous  strain. 


FROMPETRARCH. 

To  distant  realms  you  mount,  you  fly, 

Nor  more  on  earth  appear, 
Thy  sight  no  longer  cheers  the  eye, 

Thy  voice — no  more  the  ear. 

Farewell !— a  long  farewell  to  thee  ! 

Oft  shall  I  wander  here, 
And  pour  my  sighs.     Then  claim  from  me 

The  tributary  tear. 


FROM    PETRARCH. 

On  this  verdant  bank  reclined, 

My  listless  length  thus  laid, 

I  calm  the  transport  of  my  mind 

Beneath  the  cooling  shade. 

To  sing  my  gentle  Laura's  praise, 

My  tuneful  Harp,  prepare, 

And  in  soft  melody's  sweet  lays 

Still  mitigate  my  care. 

The  chrystal  stream  that  murmurs  by 

Will  join  the  love-lorn  strain, 

The  songsters  of  the  grove  will  try 

T'  alleviate  my  pain. 


FROM    PETRARCH.  T3 

This  sweet  retreat,  with  all  its  charms, 
Will  still  afford  relief, 
This  breast  no  more  will  feel  alarms, 
These  eyes  no  longer — grief. 


FROM    PETRARCH. 

O  Love,  what  heart  ne'er  felt  thy  sting  ? 

What  bard  ne'er  deigned  thy  charms  to  sing  ? 

What  words  can  now  my  sorrows  speak  7 

Where  shall  I  for  my  Laura  seek  ? 

Ah!  I  feel  the  rankling  flame, 

Breathing  that  ecstatic  name 

What  emotions  you  inspire ! 

Ne'er  did  the  thirsty  stag  desire 

The  cooling  waters,  as  those  eyes 

Seek  the  sight  that  death  dearies. 

Lovely  pilgrim,  oh!  that  I, 

In  one  death,  with  thee  could  die. 

But  alas  ! — how  vain  to  mourn, 

Thou,  my  Laura,  to  that  bourne 

Hast  gone, — where  Petrarch  will  again 

Meet  thee,  unalloyed  with  pain. 

7 


74  FROM   PETRARCH, 


FROM    PETRARCH. 

Peace  once  dawned  upon  this  breast, 
Here  she  came  a  welcome  guest. 
Tears  no  longer  stole  this  cheek, 
Joy,  once  more,  my  heart  did  seek. 
When,  alas  !  how  vain  our  pleasure  ! 
Transient  was  my  harp's  glad  measure, 
Now — my  Laura  droops  her  head, 
Soon  I'll  mourn  my  Laura  dead. 
Nature,  gentle  mother,  save 
My  loved  Laura  from  the  grave. 
Must  it,  must  it,  ever  be, — 
Snatched  through  all  eternity. 
Death,  all  devouring,  never  take 
Laura  for  her  Petrarch's  sake. 
Nature,  Nature,  can'st  thou  save 
The  fairest  work  thy  hands  e'er  gave. 


FAME.  75 


FAME. 

What  is  Fame  ? — an  empty  bubble, 

Full  of  toil  and  full  of  trouble. 

Evanescent  as  the  dream, 

Or  the  froth  on  mountain  stream  ; 

Transient  as  the  passing  wind, 

Or  the  swift  winged  thought  of  mind  ; 

Fleeting  as  the  beams  of  light, 

Or  the  arrow  in  its  flight ; 

Mortal  as  the  fragrant  flower ; 

Passing  as  the  April  shower ; 

Envious  as  the  venomed  snake 

Crawling  in  the  thorny  brake  ; 

Ever  onward  in  its  way, 

Ne'er  content  to  go  or  stay. 

Tell  me,  muse,  then  what  is  fame  ? 

'Tis  the  sounding  of  a  name, 

Scarcely  worthy  of  a  thought 

If  virtue  be  not  through  her  sought. 

Should  that  be  the  prize  that 's  won, 

Seek  for  fame,  or  else  seek  none. 


DREAMS. 


DREAMS. 


"  AH  the  stars  are  glowing 
In  the  gorgeous  sky, 
In  the  stream  scarce  flowing 
Mimic  lustres  lie. 
Blow  gentle,  gentle  breeze, 
But  bring  no  cloud  to  hide 
Their  dear  resplendencies, 
Nor  quickly  turn  aside 
Dreams  bright  and  pure  as  these." — LOCKHART. 


Wake  not  the  slumb'rer, — lo !  he  smiles, 
Call  him  not  to  life's  sad  woes  ; 
While  balmy  sleep  his  grief  beguiles, 
Oh!  let  him  taste  what  it  bestows. 


Angels  whisper  in  his  ear 
Fairy  visions,  bright  and  fair  ; 
Would  you  call  the  dreamer  here 
To  the  cares  in  life  we  share  ? 


Days  of  childhood,  ever  gone, 
To  his  fancy  now  return  ; 
Nor  does  there  seem  to  rest  upon 
The  fair  prospect  ought  to  mourn. 


L  I  F  E5 . 

Parents,  brothers,  sisters,  all 
Sit  beneath  the  well  known  tree  ; 
Friends,  whom  memory  scarce  could  call, 
Join  in  festive  revelry. 

Pleasing  phantom,  be  thy  reign 
Longer  than  a  transient  hour — 
Still,  oh  !  still  on  earth  remain, 
O'er  the  sleeper  cast  thy  power. 

Lo !  he  wakes  to  life's  sad  scene, 
And  the  fleeting  joy  is  fled  ; 
The  loved  group,  in  sleep  now  seen/ 
Long  are  numbered  with  the  dead. 


LIFE. 

This  world's  a  town  of  many  squares  and  streets,-* 
The  grave,  a  market-place  where  each  man  meets  : 
If  life  were  merchandize  that  we  could  buy, 
The  rich  would  always  live,  the  poor  would  die. 
But  since  nor  life  nor  death  is  in  our  power, 
This  comes  unlooked  for,  that 's  a  short-lived  flower 
'Twere  well  if  time's  brief  span  we  '11  duly  prize, 
That  we  may  reign  immortal  in  the  skies. 

7  • 


TO   A    LADY. 


TO    A   LADY, 


ON    ARRIVING    IN    AMERICA 

"  The  world  is  bright  before  thee, 
Its  summer  flowers  are  thine, 
Its  calm  blue  sky  is  o'er  thee, 
Thy  bosom,  pleasure's  shrine. 
And  thine  the  sunbeam  given 
To  virtue's  morn^ig  hour, 
Pure,  warm,  as  when  from  heaven 
It  burst  on  Eden's  bower." — HALL*CK. 

Lady,  thrice  welcome  !     Thee  we  hail 

Upon  Columbia's  shore  ; 
Oft  did  we  hope  the  favoring  gale 

Would  waft  thee  quickly  o'er. 

Fair  daughter  of  the  Isles,  in  thee 

No  stranger  I  behold  ; 
Long  erst  hast  thou  been  known  to  me, 

Though  seas  between  us  rolled. 

And  can  I  hope  my  humble  name, 
In  distant  realms  you  'd  hear  ? 

A  minstrel  still  unknown  to  fame 
Could  never  reach  thine  ear. 


TOALADY.  70 


Awake,  my  Harp  !     Let  every  chord, 
Let  every  slumbering  string 

Their  sweetest  melody  afford, 
And  strains  of  rapture  bring. 


Nor  thou,  my  Lute,  be  now  unstrung, 
Thy  former  powers  restore, 

And  be  those  tones  harmonious  sung 
That  wont  to  charm  before. 


A  tale  of  joy,  my  muse,  inspire, 
From  heaven  descend  to  me, 

Nor  more  let  sorrow  wake  my  lyre — 
Come,  come  with  festive  glee. 


Welcome  !  thrice  welcome  to  our  shore 

Fair  lady,  thee  we  hail ! 
With  joy  we  saw  the  bark,  once  more, 

Approach  with  swelling  sail. 


Friendship  and  love  await  thee  here, 
Offspring  of  power  divine. 

No  heaving  sigh,  no  bitter  tear 
Henceforth  be  ever  thine- 


TO    A   LADY. 

To  braid  a  chaplet  for  thy  brow, 
I  cull  from  friendship's  bowers ; 

Oh !  that  I  could  but  weave  it  now 
Of  never  fading  flowers. 

But  while  the  garland  here  I  wreathe 

It  hastens  to  decay, 
E'en  as  the  fragrant  odors  breathe, 

It  droops  and  pines  away. 

Tis  thus  with  man  :  like  these  fair  flowers. 

At  morn  he  rears  his  head ; 
And  ere  the  close  of  evening's  hours 

He  slumbers  with  the  dead. 

Farewell,  fair  lady  !  to  that  friend* 
Who  blends  his  fate  with  thine, 

A  willing  offering  now  I  send, 
A  tributary  line. 

But  feebly  can  my  lyre  respond 

The  feelings  of  a  heart 
United  long,  by  friendship's  bond. 

To  him  whose  own  thou  art. 

*  Thomas  Jackson,  Esq. 


LAST    DAY    OF   THE    YEAR- 

Welcome,  my  friend  !  be  ever  blest ! 

May  every  joy  of  heaven 
Be  in  thy  heart  a  constant  guest, 

All  happiness  be  given. 


A  brother  e'er  I  found  in  thee, 
When  exiled  far  from  home  ; 

And  such  thou  'It  ever  prove  in  me, 
Whatever  realms  we  roam. 


Farewell !  farewell !  the  minstrel  art 

Can  faintly  all  declare  : 
Oh  !  that  you  could  but  view  my  heart, 

And  read  the  feelings  there  ! 


LAST    DAY    OF    THE    YEAR. 


Another  year  is  past :  and  who  can  say 
That  he  again  will  see  another  day  ? 
To-morrow — ere  the  sun  will  meet  the  dawn 
Upon  the  moss-grown  hill  or  verdant  lawn, 
Time  must  consign  to  that  untravelled  bourne 
Another  child,  from  whence  there  's  no  return, 


82  TOAHOLYBIBLE. 

Hast  thou  improved  the  past  ?  if  not,  oh !  stay 
Thy  headlong  course,  and  seek  a  better  way. 
A  few  more  years,  0  youth,  the  final  chime 
Will  warn  thee  that  no  more  you  live  with  time. 
Death  steps  between  and  cuts  that  fatal  thread 
That  erst  has  bound  the  living  with  the  dead. 
Does  time  itself  exist  for  evermore  ? 
Or  will  her  onward  heedless  race  be  o'er  ? 
Did  the  Eternal  this  great  agent  send 
Without  beginning  or  without  an  end  ? 
No  :  the  archangel's  voice,  from  shore  to  shore, 
Proclaims  aloud  that  time  shall  be  no  more. 
Thus  that  devourer,  when  all  things  create 
He  has  devoured,  himself  must  meet  his  fate. 
Yes,  he  must  yield,  must  find  his  final  doom, 
And  with  his  victims  share  a  common  tomb. 


TO   A    HOLY    BIBLE. 

Ye  sacred  truths,  to  man  in  mercy  given, 

The  holiest  boon  was  e'er  vouchsafed  from  heaven  ; 

Let  your  pure  doctrine  and  your  native  truth 

Be  age's  comfort  and  the  guide  of  youth. 

Let  Christians  triumph  in  the  sacred  page, 

The  glory  of  each  past  and  future  age, 


T  O^  A   FRIEND. 

The  only  wealth  that  waits  our  final  doom, 
The  only  splendor  in  the  silent  tomb. 
These  are  your  blessings  ;  let  the  atheist  rave, 
His  sentence  waits  him  in  the  lonely  grave : 
But — let  the  pious  Christian  never  mourn, 
His  triumph  meets  him  at  death's  sombre  urn. 


TO    A   FRIEND.* 


'  Friendship,  peculiar  boon  of  heayen, 
The  noble  mind's  delight  and  pride, 
To  men  and  angels  only  given, 
To  all  the  lower  world  denied." 


Oh  !  let  me  wake  my  lyre 
For  thee,  my  honored  friend, 
The  strains  my  muse  inspire 
To  thee  I  freely  send. 

In  friendship — true  I  've  found  thee, 
Sincere  in  all  thy  love  ; 
By  these  bonds  thou  'st  bound  me, 
Unbroken  may  they  prove. 

*  James  Cocke,  Esq. 


84  TO  A  FRIEND. 

Oh  !  may  the  links  be  ever 
In  union  closely  found, 
May  time  or  absence  never 
Disjoin  what  friendship  bound. 


I  can't  resist  the  feeling 
That  fires  my  humble  lay, 
Unconsciously  'tis  stealing, 
Though  thou  art  far  away. 


Is  there  a  blessing  dearer, 
One  more  I  'd  wish  were  mine, 
A  happiness  sincerer 
Than  intercourse  like  thine  ? 


Still  closer  be  it  woven, 
So  that  it  ne'er  can  part ; 
Yet,  as  it  erst  has  proven, 
Uniting  heart  to  heart. 


And  when  with  fond  affection, 
We  meet  in  heaven's  bright  sphere, 
How  sweet  the  recollection 
Of  scenes  that  blest  us  here. 


KOSCIUSKO'SGARDEN  85 

KOSCIUSKO'S    GARDEN, 
AT   WESTPOINT. 

Mark  that  lone  spot,  where  but  a  single  flower 

Rears  its  lone  head,  and  fragrant  sweets  o'erpower ! 

The  violet  here,  the  snow  white  lily  there, 

A  cultivation,  long  gone  by,  declare. 

Here  a  fair  arbor  stood, — the  eglantine 

That  yet  the  towering  oak's  aged  boughs  entwine, 

And  pensive  droops  its  leaves  above  the  wave, 

Or  in  the  water's  crystal  flood  they  lave, 

Brings  to  remembrance  seasons,  now  no  more, 

When  Koscuisko  on  Columbia's  shore 

Found  that  asylum  in  his  home  denied  ; 

Sought  that  pure  bliss  for  which,  in  vain,  he  sighed. 

This  was  the  hallowed  place,  the  lone  retreat, 

Where,  in  sad  exile,  turned  his  wandering  feet. 

Yes,  it  was  thus  his  sorrows  sought  relief — 

Mid  rural  shades  he  mourned  in  silent  grief. 

To  weep  the  scene  of  desolation  here, 

Fain  would  fair  Liberty  a  willing  tear 

Grant,  as  a  tribute,  to  so  fair  a  spot, 

Which,  while  she  reigns,  can  never  be  forgot. 


TO    THE   MEMORY  OF   A  FRIEND, 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  A  FRIEND. 

"  Help,  Lord,  for  the  godly  man  ceaseth  ;  for  the  faithful  fail  from 
among  the  children  of  men." — Ps.  xii.  v.  1. 

Muse  of  a  mourning  harp,  inspire  my  lays  ! 
A  great  man,  fallen  in  Israel,  claims  thy  praise. 
Great  in  his  acts  of  mercy,  great  in  grace, 
Great  in  his  virtues.     Who  can  fill  his  place  ? 

Friend  of  our  by-gone  days  !  shall  we  again 
Ever  behold,  amid  the  walks  of  men, 
A  breast  more  true  to  friendship's  every  call, 
A  heart  by  pity  moved  to  succor  all  ? 

Meek  charity  and  all  its  powers  divine, 
Where  did  they  more  triumphant,  purer  shine, 
Than  in  that  throbless  bosom  ever  stilled, 
Whose  task  on  earth  so  justly  was  fulfilled  ? 

To  seek  distress,  at  morn,  you  went  about, 
Each  eve,  the  case  you  knew  not  searched  out ; 
Nature,  in  true  benevolence,  did  blend 
The  orphan's  guardian  with  the  widow's  friend. 


TO    THE    MEMORY    OF    A    FRIEND. 
Did  we  need  counsel  ?  from  thy  lips  would  flow 
All  that  fair  wisdom's  self  could  e'er  bestow  : 
You  taught  us  slill  to  combat  with  the  strife, 
When  here  no  charm  appeared  to  cherish  life. 

But  now  thou  'rt  gone.     Yes  !  yes,  we  mourn  thee  dead. 

And  with  thee,  dear  departed  shade,  has  fled 

A  spirit  long  aspiring  to  the  skies, 

That  now,  at  last,  attains  the  hallowed  prize. 


Farewell !  a  long  farewell  we  bid  to  thee, 

Crowned  with  a  fadeless  immortality. 

Long  is  it  ere  a  friend  so  true  we  '11  find, 

Where  heart  meets  heart,  and  mind  responds  to  mind. 


Heir  of  eternal  bliss,  how  truly  blest ! 
With  saints  thou'st  entered  on  thy  heavenly  rest. 
Thrice  happy  state  !  (such  blessing  to  us  send,) 
Angels  on  thee  in  blissful  realms  attend. 


There,  is  this  state  of  rigid  trial  o'er  ; 
There,  will  the  anxious  bosom  beat  no  more ; 
The  heart  can  then  no  more  emit  the  sigh, 
Nor  sorrow  ever  dim  the  mourner's  eye. 


TO  A  FRIEND. 


How  glorious,  then,  to  sing  in  heavenly  lays, 
Angels  and  men  uniting  in  their  praise, 
With  loud  hosannas  mid  the  saints  above. 
How  sweet  the  harmony— how  pure  the  love  ! 


TO    A   FRIEND,* 
ON  DEPARTING  FOR  EUROPE, 

"  Friend  after  friend  departs  ; 

Who  hath  not  lost  a  friend  ? 

There  is  no  union  here  of  hearts 

That  finds  not  here  an  end. 

There  is  a  world  above 

Where  parting  is  unknown, 

A  long  eternity  of  love, 

Formed  for  the  good  alone. 
And  faith  beholds  the  dying  here 
Translated  to  that  glorious  sphere."— MONTGOMERF. 

Farewell,  my  friend  !    Thou  'It  not  refuse 
The  tribute  of  an  humble  muse, 

Though  small  the  gift  I  bring. 
All  that  I  have  I  give  to  thee, 
The  offering  then  accept  from  me, 

To  friendship's  praise  I  sing. 

*  R.  E.  AJcock,  Esq, 


TO   A   FRIEND. 

Full  many  a  rolling  year  has  fled, 
And  many  a  changing  scene  has  shed 

A  halo  round  my  way, 
Since  first  I  met  thee — blithe  and  young, 
Such  as  I  would  have  gladly  sung 

In  melody's  sweet  lay. 

Yet  still  I  find  no  change  in  thee, 
Thou  'st  ever  proved  the  same  to  me, 

In  fortune's  smiles  and  tears; 
And  such  I'll  be  to  thee  each  hour, 
If  summer  smile  or  winter  lower, 

Through  all  succeeding  years. 

Friend  of  my  heart,  this  wreath  then  take, 
And  wear  it,  for  the  donor's  sake, 

While  e'er  a  flower  will  bloom. 
And  may  the  garland  ne'er  decay, 
Nor  its  sweet  fragrance  fade  away 

But  on  the  minstrel's  tomb. 

Soon,  soon  upon  the  vasty  deep, 
Thy  wakeful  vigils  thou  must  keep, 

Far,  far  from  home  and  me : 
E'en  there,  my  friend,  I  '11  thee  pursue, 
Still,  still  my  thoughts  will  turn  to  you, 

Yes  !  oft  I  '11  think  of  thee. 


90  TO    A    FRIEND-, 

Speed  on  thy  way,  but  do  not  stay — 
Slowly  the  hours  will  pass  away, 

Until  again,  once  more, 
We  see  the  welcome  bark  return, 
Her  flying  pennant  we  discern 

From  fair  Columbia's  shore. 

For  thee,  fair  lady,  who  dost  blend, 
Thy  fate  with  that  of  my  loved  friend, 

I  wake  an  humble  strain ; 
May  every  bliss  that  bounteous  heaven 
On  mortal  pours,  to  thee  be  given 

Until  we  meet  again. 

May  friendly  hearts  responsive  beat, 
And  friendly  bosoms  once  more  meet, 

Upon  thy  native  shore  ; 

And  friendships,  formed  in  youth's  gay  primes 
Be  found  to  bloom,  unmarred  by  time, 

E'en  flourish  more  and  more. 

Farewell,  my  friends  !  once  more  farewell ! 

My  feelings  are  too  full  to  tell 
All  that  I  would  impart ; 

The  hidden  motions  of  the  breast 

From  genial  impulse  must  be  guest— 
Such  only  reads  the  heart. 


VISIONOFCOLUMBUS.  01 


VISION    OF    COLUMBUS, 

Wrapped  in  the  arms  of  sleep,  Columbus  lay 

'Neath  a  cool  grot  upon  a  beetling  shore. 

Ah  !   who  could  then  divine  the  visioned  dream 

That  beamed,  that  day,  upon  his  giant  mind  ? 

All  seemed  the  phantom  of  a  'wildered  brain. 

He  dreamed  of  other  worlds  than  where  he  lay. 

He  saw,  beyond  the  western  main,  a  land 

Rich  in  the  gifts  of  nature.     Pearly  streams, 

And  verdant  fields,  with  valley,  hill  and  lawn, 

Mountain  and  flood  passed  him  in  quick  succession. 

The  variegated  landscape  was  o'er-arched 

With  sky  ethereal,  where  not  e'en  a  cloud 

Cast  a  dim  shade  to  mar  the  pure  serene. 

Would  the  Creator  give  no  hand  to  till 

A  paradise  so  fair  ? — or  was  there  none 

To  share  those  blessings  graciously  conferred  ? 

Not  so.     The  rustic  cot  and  latticed  fence 

That  bound  the  sole  dominion  of  its  lord, 

The  arbor  and  the  vine  that  formed  the  shade, 

Shone  there  conspicuous  ;  and  the  lowly  pair, 

Ambitious  not  of  glory  or  renown, 

Moved  through  the  glorious  vision,  and  inspired 

The  mighty  dreamer  to  his  destined  course. 


92  GRAVEOFANDRE. 

Such  was  the  glimpse  obscure  that  first  conveyed 
To  the  bold  spirit,  now  to  slumber  given, 
That  there  was  still  a  world  beyond  the  main 
Unknown  to  erudition's  lettered  page. 


GRAVE    OF    ANDRE. 


"  The  warrior's  arm 

Lies  nerveless  on  the  pillow  of  its  shame  ; 
Hushed  is  the  stormy  voice,  and  quenched  the  blaze 
Of  his  red  eye  ball."  KIRKE  WHITE. 


Stop,  traveler,  stop  and  drop  a  tear  ; 
Breathe  on  this  spot  the  requiem  sigh  : 
These  tributes  grant  to  Andre's  bier — 
Andre  the  virtuous,  though  the  spy. 

No  monument  of  polished  art, 
Of  weeping  angels  marks  the  spot, 
No  sculptured  trophies  here  impart 
His  deeds,  and  say  :  ;£  Forget  me  not." 

No  chaplet  circles  round  his  head, 
But  what  the  mourning  cypress  forms  ; 
No  dirge  is  chaunted  o'er  his  bed, 
But  what  the  howling  wind  performs. 


GRAVEOFANDRE.  93 

Save  the  lone  cypress'  sombre  gloom, 

Save  the  fair  lilies  scattered  round, 

Save  the  blue  violet's  rich  perfume, 

The  willow's  shade,  the  moss-grown  mound, 


No  other  tombs  his  ashes  grace, 
No  other  incense  reach  the  skies — 
These,  these  alone,  now  mark  the  place 
Where  the  lamented  Andre  lies. 


Farewell,  brave  youth  ! — thy  country's  cause 
A  willing  victim  found  in  thee: 
Thy  monument  is — honor's  laws — 
To  thee  the  grave  is — victory. 


What,  though  in  foreign  realms  you  lie, 
Far  from  thine  own,  thy  native  land  ? 
What,  though  no  mother  closed  thine  eye, 
No  weeping  sister  prest  thy  hand? 


Here  will  the  morn  her  tears  bestow, 
The  evening  dews  will  weep  the  brave, 
The  pensive  traveler's  tears  will  flow, 
And  moist  the  gallant  Andre's  grave. 


94         ON    SEEING  THE   AMERICAN   COAST. 

Here  will  the  rising  orb  of  day 
A  constant  visitant  e'er  be  ; 
At  evening,  with  his  setting  ray, 
He  '11  take  a  parting  look  at  thee. 

Nor  will  the  moon  her  beams  deny 
To  linger  o'er  this  little  mound — 
To  cheer  the  traveller  passing  by, 
Who  turns  to  view  the  hallowed  ground. 

And  if  a  pensive  bard  desires 
To  wake  his  harp  to  night's  dull  ear, 
Nor  will  the  stars  or  wandering  fires 
Refuse  the  mourning  dirge  to  hear. 

E'en  will  Columbia's  sons  forgive 
The  guiltless  crime  that  mars  thy  fame  ; 
And  can  the  generous  Briton  live 
Who  must  not  venerate  thy  name  ? 


ON  SEEING  THE  AMERICAN  COAST. 

% 

Hail,  Columbia,  great  and  glorious  ! 
Thee,  with  joyous  hearts,  we  hail ! 
To  thy  shores,  thus  stretched  before  us, 
We  approach  with  swelling  sail. 


ON    SEEING    THE    AMERICAN    COAST.        93 

We,  through  great  and  many,  dangers 
On  the  vast  Atlantic  wave, 
Seek  in  thee,  a  land  of  strangers, 
A  home,  a  country  and  a  grave. 


Freedom  takes  thy  fair  dominion 
Under  her  peculiar  care  ; 
Man  can  here  express  opinion, 
Here  his  secret  thoughts  declare. 

Virtue,  seeking  here  protection, 
Sanctuary  finds  in  thee  ; 
This  is  freedom  in  perfection — 
That,  the  fairest  liberty. 

Still  we  feel  a  palpitation 

Strike  the  heart  with  many  a  throe, 

Painting,  in  anticipation, 

Scenes  of  weal  or  scenes  of  woe. 

Still  we  cast  a  look  behind  us 
On  scenes  we  ever  must  forego, 
Finding  friendship's  chains  to  bind  us 
Close  and  closer  as  we  go. 


a  LOSS    OF   THE    PRESIDENT. 

LOSS    OF    THE    PRESIDENT.* 

j§          * 

"  Poor  souls,  they  have  all  perished." — THE  TEMPEST. 

Where  are  the  young,  the  lovely  and  the  brave  ? 
Ask  of  the  mountain  billows  of  the  wave. 
Ask  of  the  raging  tempests  in  their  ire — 
Ask  of  the  all-devouring  flames  of  fire. 

Tell,  mighty  ocean,  (for  'tis  thou  alone 

Can'st  tell,)  where  those  bold  spirits  now  are  gone, 

Who  ventured,  on  thy  bosom,  far  away  ? 

Speak  !  vasty  deep,  oh,  speak  !  Where,  where  are  they? 

WThere  is  the  gallant  youth  whose  ancient  name 
Was  erst  enrolled  upon  the  lists  of  fame  ? 
The  Lenox  line  :   for  glory  oft  he  sighed, 
Far,  far  from  glory's  field  the  hero  died.f 

And  is  that  reverend  pastor  now  no  more, 

Who  meekly  e'er  his  master's  honors  wore  ? 

He  dealt  salvation  to  a  'nighted  land. 

Where  is  he  now  ?     Blanched  on  a  foreign  strand.}: 


*  The  steamer  President  left  New  York,  March  10th,  1841,  and  was 
never  heard  of  more. 

f  Lord  Fitzroy  Lenox,  son  of  the  Duke  of  Richmond. 
J  Rev.  Mr.  Cookman,  of  Washington. 


LOSS    OF   THE    PRESIDENT.  97 

Where  is  the  wit  who  Thalia's  chaplct  bore, 
Who  wont  to  set  the  table  in  a  roar  ? 
Who  mirth's  gay  reign  in  every  clime  restored 
Whene'er  he  sparkled  at  the  social  board.* 

Where  are  the  happy  bridegrooms,  who,  that  day, 
Led  their  fair  brides  ?     Where  are  they,  ocean,  say  ? 
Ask  of  the  winds  ;  alas  !  they  well  can  tell. 
Mid  rocks,  in  crystal  caves,  'neath  coral  cell, 
With  the  lone  mermaid  silently  they  dwell. t 

Where  is  the  mother,  where  the  playful  child, 
Whom  favoring  zephyrs  fatally  beguiled 
To  tempt  the  dangers  of  the  faithless  deep  ? 
Tell  where  the  young  and  lovely  thou  dost  keep, 
Locked  in  the  arms  of  everlasting  sleep  ? 

Where  is  the  gallant  crew,  whose  fearless  hearts 
E'en  courage  to  the  trembling  breast  imparts  ? 
Defiance  seemed  to  sparkle  in  each  eye. 
Where  are  they  now  ?     In  ocean's  depths  they  lie. 

Was  it  the  vivid  lightning's  flash  that  hurled 
The  bol<J  adventurers  from  this  nether  world  ? 
Or  did  the  mighty  thunder  onward  peal, 
And  thus  their  destiny  for  ever  seal  ? 

*  Mr.  Tyrone  Power,  Comedian. 

t  Several  bridal  parties  were  on  board. 


99  HUMAN    LIFE. 

Mayhap  the  glowing  furnace  wrapped  in  flames 
Those  who  have  left  on  earth  but  by-gone  names. 
Say  did  the  curling  volumes  quick  consume 
Age  in  its  wisdom,  beauty  in  its  bloom  ? 

Was  it  the  tempest  ?  was  it  potent  steam, 
That  firstly  waked  the  slumberers  from  a  dream  ; 
Painting  in  glowing  colors,  heavenly  bright, 
Visions  now  realized  in  realms  of  light  ? 

Say,  was  it  one,  or  all,  O  mighty  sea? 
Say,  for  these  things  alone  are  known  to  thee. 
Still  do  thy  waves  roll  on  from  day  to  day, 
But  thy  sad  victims,  ocean,  where  are  they  ? 

Tell,  vasty  flood  ('tis  only  thou  alone 

Cari'st  tell,)  where  these  bold  spirits  now  are  gone  ? 

They  trusted  to  thy  waters  far  away. 

Speak,  mighty  ocean,  speak  !     Oh,  where  are  they  ? 


HUMAN    LIFE. 

How  sad  it  is  to  think 
That  we  so  soon  must  die. 
Scarce  do  we  of  life's  waters  drink 
Ere  the  small  font  is  dry. 


HUMAN   LIFE. 

Friendship  and  love  divine 

Pass  as  the  April  shower, 

When  crystal  drops  in  sunbeams  shine 

And  spangle  every  flower. 

The  mighty  powers  of  mind 
Are  as  a  fleeting  dream, 
Nor  leaving  more  a  trace  behind 
Than  murmurs  from  a  stream. 

The  path  our  footsteps  trod 
Will  know  the  sound  no  more, 
Nor  will  that  pulse  emit  one  throb 
That  beat  so  quick  before. 

'Tis  ever  thus  with  man, 

His  life  's  a  transient  day, 

A  passing  hour,  a  short-lived  span, 

The  sparkling  of  a  ray. 


300  TIME 


LOVE. 

(FROM  ROUSSEAU.) 

Mark  that  child  whose  dimpling  cheek 
Deeds  of  mischief  loud  bespeak. 
Ever  clad  in  simple  guise, 
He  deceives  the  keenest  eyes. 
Now,  as  if  o'ercome  by  fear, 

He  betrays  the  silent  tear ; 

Now  displaying  bolder  mien, 

A  lustful  tyrant  he  is  seen. 

Hate  and  friendship,  in  their  turns, 

E'er  within  his  bosom  burns. 

All  the  passions  he  '11  portray 

In  the  compass  of  a  day. 

Such  is  Love.     Shun  not  the  boy, 

He  brings  bliss  without  alloy. 


TIME. 
(FROM  ROUSSEAU.) 

See  old  Time,  on  rapid  wing? 
Fleeter  flies  than  any  thing. 
Time — the  only  image  he 
Of  a  vast  eternity. 


REASON. 

Deeds  of  daikness  he  '11  disclose, 
Then  consign  them  to  repose. 
Seeing  all  things  he  creates 
Entering  on  their  various  fates. 
Mortal,  when  'tis  in  thy  power, 
Improve  Time's  fleeting,  varying  hour. 


101 


RE  AS'dN.', 


(FROM  VOLTAIRE.) 

Reason  is,  to  mortal  man, 

Guide  of  every  human  plan. 

All  he  sees  and  all  he  hears, 

From  his  fair  infantile  years, 

Proves  that  even  virtue's  sighs 

Are  holier  than  what  vice  can  prize. 

In  her  path  alone  is  found 

All  that 's  lovely,  all  that 's  sound. 

Every  other  pleasure  here 

Is  composed  of  hope  and  fear. 

But  with  this  all-potent  shield 

Nought  can  make  the  hero  yield. 

As  a  solid  rock,  he  braves 

Life's  tempestuous  storms  and  waves 


102  RURAL    RETIREMENT, 

RURAL    RETIREMENT. 

(FROM  LA  FONTAINE.) 

Sweet  Retirement !  charm  divine  I 
Re  thy  blessing's  ever  mine. 
Guiding  still  my*  wandering  feet 
To  some  silent  calm  retreat, 
Where,  in  converse  with  the  nine, 
To  heaven's  behest  I  'd  all  resign- 

Far  removed  from  busy  towns, 
And  the  threats  of  great  men's  frowns, 
Let  me  study  Nature's  laws — 
Looking  to  the  great  first  cause — 
Mid  verdant  meads  and  crystal  rills, 
Flowering  banks  and  moss-grown  hills. 

May  heaven  soon  grant  me  such  a  life, 
Ever  tranquil,  free  from  strife. 
And  when  death  comes — if  soon  or  late- 
Resigned  in  will,  I  '11  meet  my  fate  ; 
Entering  on  that  joyous  rest, 
Inherited  by  all  the  blest. 


DESTINY. 


DESTINY. 

(FROM  VOLTAIRE.) 

All  things  bow  to  sovereign  fate, 
Living  in  a  mortal  state : 
He  distributes,  from  full  hand, 
Good  and  evil  round  the  land. 
A  mighty  volume  he  unfolds, 
Each  man's  destiny  beholds  ; 
There  he  views  our  vain  desires, 
Pleasures  which  the  heart  requires. 
Gracious  liberty  is  found 
In  unsullied  fetters  bound, 
But  a  Providence  all-wise 
Marks  these  things  with  equal  eyes. 
Bound  submissive  to  his  will, 
Are  they  e'er  discovered  still ; 
E'en  to  him  proud  fate  must  bend, 
From  beginning  to  the  eud. 


103 


10*  SPIRITOFTHEDEEP. 


TO    THE    SPIRIT    OF    THE    DEEP 


"JJark !  'tis  the  rushing  of  a  wind  that  sweeps 
Earth  and  the  ocean.     See  !  the  lightning's  yawn 
Deluging  heaven  with  fire,  and  the  lashed  deeps 
Glitter  and  boil  beneath  !"  SHELLEY. 


Spirit  of  the  midnight  deep, 
Can'st  thou  never  rest  in  sleep  ? 
Do  thy  waters  evermore 
Thus,  in  raging  billows,  roar? 
Rocks  and  mountains  rent  asunder, 
Lightning,  tempest,  rain  and  thunder, 
Nature  blending  sea  and  sky 
Are  thy  only  lullaby. 

Spirit  of  the  midnight  deep, 
Wilt  thou  ever  vigils  keep  ? 
Did  thy  eyelids  seek  repose 
Since  mid  nature's  works  you  rose  ? 
Co-existent  with  the  earth, 
Darkness  ruling  at  thy  birth, 
Raging  flood  and  mingling  storm, 
All  the  elements  perform. 


SPIRITOFTHEDEEP.  105 

Spirit  of  the  midnight  deep, 
Myriads  in  thy  palace  sleep. 
Eyes  that  late  a  lustre  shed, 
Dolphins  at  their  revels  fed. 
Bosoms  beating  once  for  praise, 
Monsters  feast  on  festive  days. 
Blighted  hopes  and  love  divine, 
Spirit  of  the  deep,  are  thine. 


Spirit  of  the  midnight  deep, 
Sad  the  harvest  thou  dost  reap  ; 
Lovers  clasped  in  death's  embrace, 
Mothers  with  their  infant  race, 
Friends,  adversity  has  tried, 
Still  reposing  side  by  side; 
Even  thy  cold  heart  must  weep, 
Spirit  of  the  midnight  deep. 

Spirit  of  the  deep,  the  board 
The  vassal  spread  to  greet  his  lord, 
Is  now  removed — no  lord  was  nigh — 
Ah !  what  availed  the  tear,  the  sigh  ? 
The  wife,  the  child,  the  friend — in  vain 
Expect  the  loved  one  back  again. 
Thy  dark  waves  above  him  sweep, 
Spirit  of  the  midnight  deep. 


106  TO    DIANA. 

"  Spirit  of  the  deep,  arise  !" 
Th'  archangel's  voice  in  thunder  cries. 
"  Give  up  your  dead,  ye  seas,  restore" — - 
The  word  was  past  from  shore  to  shore. 
Souls,  in  life,  to  virtue  given, 
Destined  to  a  throne  in  heaven, 
Even  thy  proud  self  can't  keep, 
Spirit  of  the  midnight  deep. 


TO    DIANA. 

(FROM  HORACE.) 

Virgin  of  the  woods  and  plains, 
Thrice  invoked — oh,  hear ! 

Banish  all  the  griefs  and  pains 
The  youthful  bride  may  fear. 

The  verdant  pine  my  cot  shades  o'er, 

To  thee  shall  sacred  be, 
And,  each  returning  year,  a  boar 

I  '11  sacrifice  to  thee. 


FAREWELL   TO    MY   HARP.  107 

TO    A    SLAVE. 
(FROM  HORACE.) 

Boy,  Persian  odors  I  detest, 

Bring  not  the  linden  tree, 
The  simple  myrtle  I  love  best, 

Becoming  thee  and  me. 

Thee,  as  a  servant,  it  will  grace, 

And  me,  as  I  reclirre, 
To  quaff  the  goblet  that  you  place 

Beneath  the  mantling  vine. 

FAREWELL    TO    MY    HARP. 


'This  final  effort  of  my  feeble  muse, 
How  justly  titled.     Nor  for  me  alone, 
For  al!  that  read.     What  spirit  of  support, 
What  heights  of  consolation  crown  my  song."          YODNO. 


My  Minstrel  Harp,  that  erst  has  hung 
Neglected  on  the  mouldering  wall  ; 
Long,  long,  in  silence,  lain  unstrung, 
Enveloped  in  funereal  pall. 


108  FAREWELLTOMYHARP, 

Fain  would  I  wake  thy  strains  once  more 
To  sing  a  parting  dirge  to  thee; 
But  ah !  what  art  can  e'er  restore 
The  sweetness  of  thy  melody  ? 

My  Minstrel  Harp,  whose  magic  power 
To  woe  a  sovereign  balm  did  bring, 
Beguiled  me  many  a  tedious  hour 
And  robbed  affliction  of  its  sting : 
"When  in  the  cheerful  hour  of  joy 
Gay  pleasure  held  her  proud  domain, 
Thou  mad'st  that  bliss  without  alloy, 
And  doubly  blest  her  festive  reign. 

My  Minstrel  Harp,  we  now  shall  part, 
And  other  bards  must  wake  thy  strings ; 
Still,  still  thou  'rt  dear  unto  this  heart, 
And  all  thy  strains  fond  memory  brings. 
Oft  will  my  wandering  fancy  tell 
Of  the  loved  scenes  of  other  days, 
When  o'er  my  heart  you  cast  a  spell 
Unknown  to  all — save  thy  sweet  lays. 

THE      END. 


14  DAY  USE 

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LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY— TEL.  NO.  642-3405 


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